


Getting to Know You - Part One of Motley Few: A Twilight Tommy Tale in Three Parts

by GitariArt



Series: Twilight Tommy Tales [5]
Category: OC - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Changelings, Drama, Dreams and Nightmares, Faeries – Freeform, Fairies, Fairy, Fairy Tale Elements, Fights, Gen, Memory Related, Mythical Beings & Creatures, OC, OC - character – Freeform, Original Character – Freeform, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Plot, Relationship(s), Supernatural Elements, The Folk, Urban Fantasy, Violence, fae, faery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-30 19:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5177390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GitariArt/pseuds/GitariArt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twilight Tommy finally starts to settle into his new life, especially developing a friendship with Amaryllis the dryad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning/Apology: Due to my vision disability and the limits of spell-checking software, this story probably contains grammatical problems. I have combed through every chapter over a half dozen times. I am also seeking beta readers. I apologize for any inconvenience and will gladly correct any misspellings or grammar fails that are brought to my attention.  
> Acknowledgement: the Straight Lane Group, for sitting there.  
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons or characters, living, dead, or fictional, or to actual places or events, is coincidental.  
> Gratitude: Extra-special thanks goes to Rachel, my endlessly loving and encouraging wife.  
> SPOILER?: This story makes references to events which took place in earlier Twilight Tommy tales. I am not sure that they qualify as SPOILERS, but you may want to read those preceding stories first.

Prelude

Your humble author would like to acknowledge that his conversations with Amaryllis, throughout Part One of this tome, have been relayed out of strict sequence to whence they occurred. This has been done, in part, for a more interesting narrative. Also, many of the author’s original journal notes, pertaining to the relevant dialogs, were recorded on loose sheets of paper which had subsequently been unavoidably jumbled out of order.

I

Coldly defused mid-morning light streamed in, through the wide pane-glass window, and splashed against the warming polished-wood of the Spartan room. Twilight Tommy’s crystalline amber eyes blinked open, to the weak autumn light. A satisfying and ever-present scent of fresh loam filled the elfin lad’s nostrils, causing his indifferent amber eyes to yellow slightly with the feelings of comfort.

          The yellowing ceased and reverted to the irises more typical orange, As Twilight Tommy surveyed his room, without sitting up. The wardrobe, desk, and wheeled desk-chair were all exceptionally well crafted solid-wood pieces. However, the furniture (for the most part) and walls (in their entirety) remained bare and the lack of aesthetic enhancement had tempered the spirit-touched occupant’s mood.

          As the spritely elfin lad’s mind started its usual whirl, of varied and disjointed concerns and contemplations, he glance up to see his headboard sticking out a thin-square pink tongue. After blinking several times, some of the whirling mental pieces assembled enough recognition, so that at the artificial-pink tongue resolved into a standard Sticky-Note, attached to the headboard by its adhesive edge.

Reaching one tanned hand up, from below his plush down-stuffed taupe-colored comforter, Tommy plucked the note for inspection. The message was in Twilight Tommy’s own handwriting “Talk to Amy, about Amy”.

Fulfilling its purpose, the note caused more wild roaming thought fragments to coalesce, reminding Twilight Tommy of his interest in learning more about the tree-house-haven’s dryad caretaker. Not least of which, was “caretaker”, “landlady”, or something else the best way to refer to Amaryllis. More so, was the statuesque woman merely an extension of the oak which they inhabited, or had she (like himself) been human, once upon a time. Then there was the question of how servile Amy was, as well as others.

Twilight Tommy bit his full lower lip in consternation over such topics. The pointy-eared lad remembered well that one of the other housemates had offended Amaryllis (most likely through lewdness) and she had hung him inside of a pod for many days. As attractive as Amy was, Tommy was more interested in avoiding pod-time, then making passes. Even so, the dryad had proven to think differently enough from normal human-type people, that Tommy worried that he may unintentionally say something wrong. Especially, as the lad wanted to ask Amy such questions in private, specifically to avoid confusion and misunderstanding, which their housemates were likely to cause.

Twilight Tommy toyed with the idea of putting off the note’s directive,, then sighed. Tommy had promised himself to take more control of his life and to stop just letting things happen to him, while hoping for the best. While being aware that he had been right, Tommy still did not particularly like himself for it, at the moment—it would have been so much easier to simply pretend that he would do it later.

With a self reproaching sigh, the blond elf propped himself into a sitting position, resting against his feather stuffed pillows and the headboard. Tommy had determined that changing out of his fire-engine red pajamas would have taken time, in which his resolve would most likely have broken. Tommy reached slender-fingers over and tapped the wall to his left. “Um, Amy?” He was hesitant, having never attempted to call the dryad to his room. Then, not knowing what else to say, “Uh, um, are you awake?”

          Twilight Tommy had only softly tapped three times and had kept his voice lower than regular speaking volume. If the pointy-eared lad were being completely honest with himself, he more than half hoped that no reply would come. Tommy found talking to people one-on-one difficult, at the best of times, as his racing mind often left his tongue tied trying to keep up. Plus, shapely Amaryllis really was very attractive, which made it even more difficult for Tommy to concentrate on conversation, rather than her beauty. So, if the tree-spirit did not answer Twilight Tommy’s tentative summons, then he gave himself permission to put off his inevitable awkwardness.

          Instead, after only a few deep breaths, buxom Amaryllis had slid into the room. Amy stood somewhere near to six-feet tall, on the rare occasions that she ever stood flat-footed, and she was built like a super-heroin (Wonder Woman, or another of the equally adolescent-minded artist imaginings of the Amazonians). The dryad’s skin was the golden-brown of untreated wood, including the fine wood-grain lines which accentuated her every curve. Although, Amy’s skin was as smooth and supple as any flesh could be. Amaryllis wore her customary bandeau (tube-top style) and long dress (slit up to her hip, as if for flamenco dancing), both made of artfully woven ivy vines and brightly-colored autumnal leaves (matching her hair). It took effort for Twilight Tommy to stop imagining the dryad lounging in a cabana on some tropical beach.

          Amaryllis had merely manifested backward from the wall at the foot of the bed. It looked as if the round-faced and full-lipped dryad had simply been standing on the outside of the solid barrier and sat down through it as if it were mist, to sit primly upon the bed’s far corner. As the bed was formed (like a shelf) from the same wall, Amy’s dress and legs remained mostly unseen as part of the structure of the room. While Amy’s calf-length hair cascaded onto the bed and over the end in wild curling maple-red waves splashed with patches of yellows and oranges. “I thought you weren’t going away from the oak any more?”

          Twilight Tommy knew immediately that Amy had referred her most recent admonishment to not seek in the mundane world what she was able to provide at the tree-house. A problematic proposal for Tommy, for several reasons, not least of which was a worry that prolonged dwelling within the Briar could cause further loss of humanity.

          Twilight Tommy gently wagged one elegant finger at the anachronistically dressed lass. “I _said_ that I would think about it. And, I have been, um, along with lots of other stuff…” The sprite did not allow his irritation rise to his voice or countenance, though he did harness it. “Um, in fact, I can prove it…”

          As Tommy rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, Amaryllis watched with large patient dark-lacquered irises, set in bleached-wood orbs, and sensed a long monolog coming. Amy raised her grain-lined palm, “Is this going to take some time?” her richly resonant voice free of sub-text.

          “Uh,” bright orange-amber eyes scanned the ceiling, as Twilight Tommy tried to calculate an answer, while also not loosing some of the steam he had felt, “yeah, probably, um it might.”

Amaryllis squeezed one glossy eye shut and faced the wall, while bighting the corner of her plump maple-syrup colored lower-lip. After a moment of seeming to make mental calculations or check n internal datebook, the tree-spirit nodded, with a leaf rustling sound. Then, Amy wiggled pleasantly for a moment, to assure a more comfortable posture on the straw and sawdust stuffed mattress and down comforter, before smiling and returning her attention to Tommy. “I’m ready.”

          By allowing himself to rise to the irrationally perceived challenge of Amy’s initial comment, Twilight Tommy had hoped to gain several goals. Foremost, distracting the dryad from her interest in keeping Tommy from ever leaving the tree-haven. Secondarily, the blond elf hoped that his recounting of his activities and thoughts, had while away from the oak, would unobtrusively encourage Amy to share in a similar manner. Certainly, actually proving how many things Tommy was always considering,, was also important. That talking about himself, effectively got the slender sprite off the hook for asking the dryad questions, was barely even worth mentioning.

          Twilight Tommy straightened his comforter as he composed his thoughts. The clever lad considered going through the whole previous day. Tommy quickly decided that listening to how he had awoke at his group’s shared mundane rental home, rode the bus to Sheaves & Leaves, and traversed the Briar alone, would not serve his goals. Even though, the literarily inclined lad enjoyed thinking about the strange and otherworldly fae Freehold/bookstore, he doubted that his description would convey enough wonder. Also, while Tommy’s first solo trek through the Wilder Woods had been nerve wracking, no dangers had presented themselves, the journey concluded successfully, and it had not been conducive to idle contemplations.

 

I guess it really started with my journals. I had used my personal notes a couple of days earlier to help organize my thoughts and had felt jumbled enough last night to try again. Unfortunately, the first time I had performed that act, I mainly just needed something else to occupy my mind. This time I was looking for something more.

Specifically, I was not sure who or what I was, or more accurately who I wanted to be. Ever since I had escaped my Keeper, I had simply been scrambling for security and some sense of long term safety. Now, thanks a very large part to the wonderful Briar-bound tree-house, I had time to assess more closely the kind of half-fae-half-person that I had become. Also, I had some cause to fret that I may have started to become more monstrous in nature, via association with my closest allies and their own lackadaisical use of brutality.

So, I turned to my journals to help refresh and clarify my last few weeks worth of decisions and desires. At a minimum, I had already identified that my basic abilities to form new memories had been set to random by what my insidious Keeper had done to me. Thus, consistent and accurate note taking, including reviews there of, had proven invaluable for not whirling off on some tangent or after whatever interesting thing happened to be right in front of me. Sadly, my personal-feelings records keeping had not been as thorough as I had anticipated. So, my journals shed little light on my moral state since having returned to the mortal world.

On the other hand, the review did help me realize just exactly how many of my original urgent and long-term goals I had completed. Assuming that having the goals had helped me remain focused and competent, I set about creating an updated list. I hoped that doing so would, in and of itself, help to alleviate some of the odd anxiety, or ennui, or whatever, which I had been feeling that whole day. Ludicrously, it took me nearly half an hour to realize that the real problem I had been experiencing was, in fact, the essence of the first target which had listed—“Get wyrd”.

Contemplating the metaphysical-bladder, somewhere behind my eyes and between my lungs, I found my wyrd reserves disturbingly low. When hungry for food I, like most everyone, get logy or dizzy and have even more difficulty concentrating than usual. Lack of wyrd was similar for me, except the feeling manifests as an increasing fidgetiness, disorganization, and recklessness. I knew that if left unfulfilled for too long, the need for wyrd would become a singular tunnel of focused desire, even interfering with my sense of self-preservation. Instinctively and desperately draining whatever wyrd I could, from any available source, would have me in the middle of a fight which I had started, yet could not finish. Not to mention any resultant consequences, such possible police involvement.

Thus, before I lost control of my cravings, I headed off to Las Vegas, in order to fulfill that immediate short-term part of my number-one goal. I, of course, took a couple of notepads in my backpack, for jotting down more ideas, as I was still thinking of possibilities for my new life.

Leisurely making my way down to the rec-room, I successfully avoided the attentions of any of my bull-elephant housemates. I just did not need the additional complications and distractions that someone like Gavin Granitbane would bring. Especially, because after resolving my wyrd needs, I still wanted to sort through personal issues.

Stepping through the magical faery-portal, which our tree-household had created, sent a tingle across my skin. Knowing that the thrill had nothing to do with magic, I could only hope that I never drew so jaded that I lost it. In one step, I went from inside of a tree within the Twisting Briar, near Athens Ohio, to the side of a butte in Red Rock Canyon Sate Park a few miles outside of Sin City. Although, the air was dustier and duller, lacking the fresh richness of the loam smells within the oak-haven.

As I hefted my ever-present Wal-Mart backpack, onto my shoulders, and walked across the hard-baked earth, towards the distant bus-stop, I smiled ruefully. My smile had been prompted by my thought to call my dark-green backpack (and my jacket, when I wore it)—full of spare clothes, writing utensils, makeshift knuckle-dusters, and various other odds and ends—my “paranoia pack”. In spite of my rueful sense of self depreciation, I concluded that a little paranoia was just pragmatic honesty. In the last few weeks I had escaped enslavement and come close to gruesome death on multiple occasions, so better to be as prepared as possible.

The sun had just set in Nevada and the sky overhead was a deep and clear blue, fading pale to the west, and darker blackness encroaching from the east. I was amazed at how many stars there were, by comparison to Athens.

“Pointless little twinklers—too red-shifted by half, too be so smug” I sneered quietly, although unable to understand my sensation of helpless jealously.

While hiking through the desert, to the tourist center and a bus, I was finding it more difficult to think of anything beyond foraging for fresh wyrd. Would skulking around the casinos, winnowing the crowds, be satisfying enough? Dare I take the plunge and rile some stranger into rage induced fantasies? To attempt the more pro-active threshing, which I had seen others do so successfully…

 

“I enjoy foraging.” Amaryllis said thoughtfully, “however, I’m not sure I care for the sounds of winnowing or threshing.”

          Twilight Tommy blinked large yellow-orange eyes. “Uh, well, um, I’m not sure what I can do about that. These are, um, just the words that the other more experienced spirit-touched that I’ve encountered used to describe gathering wyrd.” He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, at least foraging is the word used for the process of seeking sources of wyrd. Um, threshing and winnowing describe the actual act of collecting the mystical power, depending on how active or passive you are in the process.” Seeing Amy’s eyes narrow, Twilight Tommy hurried to clarify how the words had nothing to do with plant-life. “Wyrd itself is siphoned and refined from strong and unguarded human dreams, fantasies, imaginations, and the like. Personally, I think it’s a little like turning crude-oil into high-octane gasoline… or, sort of, like the way plants turn sunlight into chlorophyll… but it’s also like the way a reader might feel sated after reading a good book.” Another neck rub. “It’s probably a little of all three, really.”

          Amaryllis’s round face had turned more thoughtful. So, Twilight Tommy continued his recounting.

 

It was surprising how quickly the cold of oncoming night swept away the warmth of the November desert. Thanks to my preparedness, my paranoia-pack provided me plenty of easy-strike weather-proofed matches. I, of course, used the fire-sticks to trick my Summer’s Embrace glamour into effect, without having to expend any of my depleted wyrd. Thus, I felt no temperature related discomfort for my hike, although my leg muscles eventually started protesting all of the extra walking I had been doing over those last two days.

          The full-dark of night, which I had left thousands of miles back in Ohio, had overtaken me once more, by the time that I secured a seat on the bus. The public transport made a regular circuit for tourists, between the Strip and the State Park. Even with the relief which sitting provided my walking muscles, though, I was still discontent with the public transportation.

          Putting aside my preference to drive myself, whenever possible. The every movement and attitude, of the other commuters, conveyed a sort of resigned disharmony, which I took to be from post-Thanksgiving/pre-Christmas agitation. The discontent deeply enticed my choleric humor, especially with my growing need for wyrd. I could smell/feel how easy it would have been to push one or two of the normans from simmering agitation into boiling outburst, from which to thresh their underlying imaginings.

 

“Are normans people?” Amaryllis remained sitting in an upright three-quarter turned posture, hands folded elegantly in her lap, without any apparent discomfort.

          “Oh, uh, yeah.” Twilight Tommy licked his lips self-consciously., “Um, sorry, it’s a term for, uh, normal humans that I heard used in Las Vegas.”

          The long ruffled drape of fiery hair rustled and swayed slightly as Amaryllis nodded for the blond sprite to continue.

 

However, I still felt that it was important to resist provoking my fellow passengers, or the driver, into irrational enough states suitable for wyrd-fodder. Even with my supernatural charms, I was in a public situation where I would have been easily detained and identifiable for subsequent prosecution. I had to clench my jaw and ball my fists tight, in order to retain enough control over my craving, to avoid making a scene.

So, rather than lingering on my inner needs, I attempted to focus more clearly on the normans as people. Yet, concentrating on seeing all of the little boring details of the other bus passengers, only let me almost winnow a wisp of wyrd from the collective low-level irritation. It was the equivalent of a handful of stale chips, when I really wanted a three-course sixteen-ounce stake dinner. More annoying still, I garnered looks of sour discomfort, or fretful glances, for daring to take an interest in the strangers’ so-called lives.

          Even though I liked getting on the normans’ nerves, I again reminded myself of the need for caution. So, to distract myself from pushing the other travelers further, I tried once more to reflect on my recent life circumstances.

In spite of feeling a smidge better wyrd wise, the pleasures of riding instead of hiking, and my heading into a thriving city which I generally found invigorating, my mind could not seem to settle on any pleasant material. Plucking at pleasant events, inevitably caused an unraveling, which expose harsh grim experiences. I have come to understand that the Folk spun my mind into a loose tangle of background and foreground thoughts. However, that knowledge did not make the results any more bearable or less frustrating.

I did speculate somewhat on the methods which had successfully satisfied my basic needs (food, shelter, etcetera)—more than twice over, counting the oak-haven, the mundane rental house, and my gambling. I was even able to almost convince myself that my time amongst the normans was rejuvenating some of my own lost humanity. On the other hand, I could not stop myself from recalling the events of the redcap massacre, or any of the long adventure which culminated in fighting the bloody Doctor Barber.

 

Twilight Tommy shuddered involuntarily.

          “Doctor Barber?” Amaryllis cocked her head to one side, as she squinted dark-umber eyes quizzically. “Do I know Doc…”

          “No.” Tommy cut the dryad off quickly, although not unkindly, as he simply did not want the fiend’s name spoken too often. “Ah, um, no, you don’t. He is a, uh, Bright One.” Seeing Amy’s glossy eyes widened in horror, Tommy hastened to add, “A lesser Bright One, um, by the local Court’s accounting… And, uh, he was run off, um, badly wounded.”

          Amaryllis swallowed and blinked, to help clear her mind of the Sidhe’s name, she also addressed the other point of interest. “I know that you and the others have been talking about a gang of redcaps. Am I to understand that you defeated them in battle?”

          “Um…” Twilight Tommy bit his plump lips and glanced around in thought. “Um, yeah… Uh, I’m kind of surprised that, uh, none of the others has told you yet.”

          “None of them are ever very talkative.” Amaryllis jaw set firmly for a moment. “I suspect that mostly they forget that I’m even here, most of the time.”

“Yeah,” Twilight Tommy nodded and scratched his cheek, “uh, I can see that.” He sighed. “Look, um, can I tell you about the redcap and Bright One battles another time? I’m still not sure how I feel about what happened, there.”

Mostly the elfin lad just did not want to so thoroughly derail his current narrative for those spur-lines. Although, Tommy did feel a little bad for dashing the eagerness Amaryllis had displayed for the combat descriptions. The fresh twinkle faded from the wood-spirit’s large eyes, as she settled back to her more poised posture, and awaited Twilight-Tommy’s preferred topic.

 

So, anyway, not trusting myself to focus on my exterior surrounds and looking inward being more fraught than I cared to address, I turned once again to my trusty notebooks. The thoughts within the pages were mine, yet at enough of a remove that I could consider them as discreet moments, free of unsettling associations.

          Originally, I had started keeping the almost obsessive notes because of my amnesia of my time in captivity, the related jumbled whirlwind of thoughts, and a dread that my mind would continue to degrade if I stayed away from the Folk. After those first few weeks I had successfully convinced myself that my condition was not progressing. Even so, the journals continued to prove useful in these other ways, so I kept up with them. Plus, I continued to imagine that I might, one day, redraft the notes into books from which other spirit-touched may benefit.

          My list of new goals, only just an hour or so old, was still quite short and not as helpful for taking my mind off wyrd as I had expected. After “Get wyrd”, was “Make lots more money”, another perpetually depleting resource. The bus to and from Las Vegas alone, cost fifteen-dollars each way. While not exactly exorbitant, such expenses added up quickly. I never wanted find myself in need in the mundane world again. So, even though I had been having remarkable success building a monetary nest-egg, through judicious employment of my fortune altering glamours, I was loath to rely on such continued income. I was too aware that I made the money through gambling and even magically enhanced, luck could only last so long. Even more so, considering how fickle the Gyr made magic.

 

“Is Gyr,” Amaryllis took care to pronounce the word as Tommy had, “the Folk’s version of wyrd?”

          “Um, hmmm…” Twilight Tommy twiddled his thumbs in his lap, as he considered. “Uh, well, I um, I don’t think so.” He squinched up his face, bobbing his head from side to side indecisively. “I’m still trying to figure a lot of this stuff out, myself. But as I understand it, the Gyr is where all magic comes from and governs the way all magic effects the world… all worlds, really.” Tommy scratched his head to loosen his thick blond curls. “While wyrd is more like, um, a way for us to, uh, tap into and manipulate the Gyr, uh, which is always there to some extent.”

          “Oh,” Amaryllis smiled with delighted realization, “Gaea, the soul of all nature. Gyr sounds as if someone had trouble speaking when they explained It to you.” She pursed her lips. “Although, I have heard that goblins call It the Wyrm, so maybe Gaea just has lots of names. Like all of your other new words seem to.”

          Twilight Tommy smiled appreciatively, made a mental note to look up “goblins”, and nodded agreement, before continuing with his listing.

 

So, my notes worked for getting me to stop thinking about wyrd for a while. Before I completely realized it, I was listing options to research, such as buying another vehicle for in Las Vegas, including parking costs for cars, and the viability of a bicycle or segue. Which, in turn, led to me starting a separate shopping-list—topped with “Buy smart-phone or laptop ASAP” for easier research.

          Thoughts of research even improved my mood, somewhat. For me using books or the internet to discover an answer or find the best product for its lowest price, was like winning a game. A competition of me against the vast array of accumulated knowledge and marketing-driven misinformation.

          On the other hand, thinking about cars also got me brooding about my other, faker, over-all-crappy imposter-me. As far as I had been able to tell, Fetch-Tom was a drug dealer and scum-bag of the sleaziest order.

 

Amaryllis held up an elegant wood-grained hand, “Is Fetch-Tom a who or a what?”

          “Um, well…” Twilight Tommy’s translucent-amber eyes looked off to the side, while he chewed his upper lip in thought. “Uh, I guess, um, sort of both.” He shrugged and looked back at Amy. “Fetch is just another term for shadow-eater…” Seeing the dryad’s lack of comprehension, Tommy once again drew on his recent readings at Ariadne’s rare books collection, “They look like people and act like people. Specifically, people that have been taken by the Folk. The Bright Ones make the fetch out of whatever garbage is at hand, then leave the duplicates in the mortal world, to fool the captured human’s family and friends into thinking that the real person had never been left.” His smooth and tapered features hardened with anger. “Only to sustain the magic that keeps them held together and looking human, the shadow-eaters slowly consume the essences of any normal people near them. Making the real peoples’ hearts and minds miserable and empty.”

          “So, Fetch-Tom… ?” Amaryllis spoke gently, in deference to Tommy’s agitation.

          Twilight Tommy flipped one hand dismissively, “I just call him… it, that to differentiate from the others’ insidious replacements.”

          “ _All_ of you have fetch?” Amaryllis sounded oddly impressed, even as her full lips and wide eyes were turned down in sadness.

          Twilight Tommy rubbed his chin, “Uh, yeah, sure, I guess… Except for Gavin, though. His was killed in a fire, before we all escaped back to the world.”

          The tree-spirit’s rich raw-umber eyes unfocused in thoughtfulness, which Tommy took as an indicator to keep talking.

 

So, getting rid of the shadow-eater version of me and repairing the damage he-it had done to my life, stayed on my goals. Although, I placed the desire down a ways, as I had very little idea about how to even start to achieve that target. Yet, I did make some notes to follow-up with Iron Wade about a car swapping plan.

Of course, I was unable to contemplate cars and Fetch-Tom without also thinking of my family and friends, from before my captivity and forced transformation. Depressingly, I had to admit to myself that my only actual friend had been Jack Schmidt, a decent guy, yet maybe if I had made more friends or kept in better touch with my parents or brother, then one of them could have figured out that Fetch-Tom had not been me…. Ultimately, I could only sigh. I know that the ways of True Fae magic are exceptionally strong, so no mortal would have ever really been able to detect the deception, or come to my rescue. I still regretted not having more decent friends, though. Plus, considering my theory that being around normans helped me regain some of my stolen humanity, caused “Socialize more, with humans” to be added to my expanding list.

I added “Socialize with more spirit-touched”, as well. Partially, to learn more about how others have figured out how to cope with their changed lives. Partially, because, as much as I wanted my humanity back, I did not want to give up the wonders of my spirit-touched life.

For good measure, I placed “Reconnect with family” as a later/long-term Target. From what I had learned of Fetch-Tom’s personality, I dreaded finding out what he had done to my family. I was also unsure of how to repair any damage of which I was likely to learn. At least, I was able to convince myself that my parents and Tim, my older brother, were capable adults and did not need looking after. A decision made easier thanks to social media, which had made it clear that my family had no contact with Fetch-Tom.

By and by, the public transport reached South Las Vegas Boulevard and I departed the company of its suspicious and forgettable normans. Then I walked the Strip and drank in the ambiance, so to speak. I used another match to ward off whatever the temperature might have been and the ubiquitous artificial lights and LED screens washed the night in a peculiarly empty illumination. The smells were equally hollow and tinny dirty concrete, noxious exhaust fumes, and human bodies layered with perfumes as bad as the exhaust. Over all the dull roar of traffic and the pressing crowds.

In general, I hated that the crowds were even thicker, drunker, and more rude on a holiday weekend—as hard as it was to believe, Thanksgiving really had only been two nights earlier. On the other hand, it was quite wonderful that Las Vegas was three hours earlier than Athens, so I had effectively regained my whole evening. Plus, the Strip never slept, which made it that much easier to forage. The jostling-inebriated masses practically exuded fantasies of lashing out at each other from some slight or other. Thus, I winnowed enough wyrd in the span of about two blocks, to satisfy the worst of my craving.

          Even though I had slept and eaten well, I still felt run-down and out-of-sorts from the lack of wyrd—as if I was dragging a full-sized deflated hot-air balloon around. As I winnowed, it added buoyancy to my metaphoric step and actual mood. Of course, too much wyrd intake all at once could really leave me “high” for a while. Which seems to be one of the benefits of the more laborious winnowing process, it was much harder to over do.

Able to think more clearly, I pulled myself from the churning stream of humanity, into the slightly more placid ponds of one of my favored casinos. Wherein I strolled about and winnowed some more, for while satisfied I was not yet sated and I knew I would need more wyrd for when I turned to the poker tables.

The MGM Grand Resort and Casino, like every casino, had proven an excellent source of unguarded emotionally-charged mortal fantasies. However, MGM also held particularly found memories for me, ones that prompted me to write “Call on Pashmi”, next to “Socialize with more spirit-touched”.

 

“Pashmi?” Amaryllis confusion seemed to contain a bit of internal reproach. “Is that the vitality-leech’s name?”

          “…” Twilight Tommy swallowed hard at the idea that Amy knew something that sounded detrimental about Pashmi. “Um, I uh… what’s a vitality-leech?”

          “Oh, you know,” Amaryllis fluttered a hand at the silly spriteling, “the pale girl with the pale hair that has a room in my roots.”

          “Ah…” Twilight Tommy nodded slow realization. “That’s Dark Sol.” Rather than fretting over having forgotten what a vitalityleech was, he just focused on the conversation at hand. “Pashmi is a lady that I had taken to Ultra-Pool at the MGM.”

          “ _Oh, really_.” Amaryllis’s rich voice sing-songed.

          Tommy blushed a little, yet he successfully did not fluster any further. “Yes, we… uh, I had a couple of free tickets, from my gambling. And, um, well she was nice and said yes….” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway the point is that the date, or whatever, went well, so I resolved to try to be more confident, ah, than when I had been merely a six-foot tall bean-pole of an awkward norman.” The elfin lad started to ramble, slightly. Besides, Pashmi had asked me to return and tell her how the redcaps confrontation had went, assuming I survived, of course. And she's been back in the mundane world a lot longer, so could probably give me some pointers… And, um, she can probably introduce me to more western based spirit-touc…”

          Twilight Tommy trailed off, under Amaryllis’s intense grin-dimpled cheeks and twinkle-eyed gaze. The story teller sighed, while swiping a hand before him, as if wiping a slate, then returned to his tale.

Anyway, slipping into my more standard routine, I spent an hour or so strolling around the gambling hall, look-scenting for people pissed at their luck, or their spouse’s terrible money management, or simply mean drunks. As my “wyrd tanks” slowly filled, I was proportionally more able to suppress the risky impulse to attempt the faster and more fruitful threshing method. The possible cost of getting kicked-out of the MGM, or worse, because I riled-up a norman to far, was simply not worth benefit of a quick fix.

I could not help but to feel a little jealous of Tegan Bramblerose, or one of the other sanguine spirit-touched, as they teased wyrd from lust and greed fueled desires. Provoking avarice in a person might get me slapped, though I doubt ever thrown out or prosecuted. Even the fear hungry meloncholics or depression chasing phlegmatists were probably less likely to incur legal proceedings, although less so for the former. I shook my head and sighed, knowing I would never actually tread on any of that apparently greener grass, even if I had the opportunity. I simply did not like the idea of making people sad or scared and more carnal appetites should not be a transaction. Plus, I was proud to be the only member of our fae household to share a choleric humor with Amaryllis.

Meanwhile, as I foraged I also attempted to be more conscious of what had been a fairly instinctual process for me. The best that I could do was that find sources of anger was a sixth sense, sort of like a cross between scent, sound, and a tug. I simply _felt_ when a norman was mad enough to be vividly imagining letting loose, or a group of normans shared a similar anger—like in at ball-game when a ref makes a bad call and the fans all hate it. I was pleased to verify that, if I concentrated, I could detect variations in the “flavor” of anger, on a spectrum from irritation to seething rage. It also became clearer that when I had been more depleted of wyrd, I was more sensitive to sources of anger. On the other hand, I still oblivious to the nuances of how much wyrd I could get from a source, or how I actually converted the normal peoples’ fancies into my mystical energy. However, I do not know exactly how breathing works or how I convert food into muscle-mass, so I was willing to give myself a break.

Unfortunately, my chaotic mind wandered, with those and other answerless conundrums, leaving my cautions by the wayside, and I went overboard imbibing wyrd. All of my senses flared into greater and frustrating sharpness, as my metaphoric wyrd-balloon rocketed into the highest highs… Albright, that is an exaggeration, though I was far higher than I ever wanted to be and adrift mentally. Unlike drugs, alcohol, or food, my system would not naturally use up the excess wyrd in less than a few days, or more.

I was able to balance my fortune out, though, in more ways than one. Locating a decently attended five-hundred dollar buy-in ‘Hold’em table, I cast as many luck altering and Fairest Tongue glamours as fast as I could. In spite of the magical assistance, I barely broke even, yet I did flush out enough wyrd-intoxication to no longer feel like running around scrubbing the casino clean.

As I came down, I reflected upon how I had been regularly winnowing twice a day, for a couple of weeks, in order to maintain my poker winnings. In some ways, I was kind of surprised that I had not over done it sooner. I felt some more jealousy for my haven-mates, as none of them ever seemed to run the risk of needing so much wyrd. On the other hand, my colleagues seemed afraid or embarrassed of their fae powers, so they never really experienced the excitement of casting glamours.

As I gambled, I added to my notes and reviewed my overall recourses. The distractions also helped to make it more difficult for my poker opponents to discern my hand strength. I added simple supplies to my shopping lists, such as more and better writing paraphernalia. I speculated about attempts to spread word of my gang’s daring and deadly deeds, to hopefully stave off future foes that might perceive us as easy pickings. I double-underlined “Write poems” as the relaxing pastime should provide both the aforementioned supplies and spreading of tales.

Thoughts of making poetry to benefit my allies, led me to speculations of Sean Tallwind’s leatherwork and Iron Wade the Man of Steal’s theoretical metal craft. If either gnarlings would ever actually make something, they could probably trade the goods for lots of other cool spirit-touched stuff. Which led me to wonder if I wanted to even bring the topic up, or actually even proceed with my improving their reputations plan.

It occurred to me that benefiting my sometimes murderous haven-mates, even slightly, was a dubious proposition. Try as I night, I still could not resolve the morality of consorting with people whom had slain others, with ease and no apparent remorse. An issue only made more cloudy from my limited experience with other spirit-touched, thus far. There seemed to be no social distinction between fame and infamy—only the intensity of related deeds. Red Rhea, for example, was supposed to have been an unprecedented arcane-scholar, as well as an epically disgraced former-Queen from an east-coast court, none of which seemed to count against her in the eyes of the Midwestern fae. While the fighting pits of the Red Court’s Silver Duchy were full of as many combatants competing for name recognition as there were for wealth. Which did little to guide my personal moral compass.

On the other hand, I reasoned that doing flattering things for the gang, was only prudent. Plus, my notes reminded me that I would be asking some of them for more assistance, soon enough. So, I may as well pre-grease those wheels.

          Then there was the completely separate issues of my non-monetary resources. In particular the complementary passes I had accrued on previous gambling excursions. Specifically, I had tickets to the prize fight for the following day. At first, I panicked at the idea that half of the value might go to waste, then I smiled quite widely.

          The other players, at my table, probably read my involuntary beaming as me having a better hand than the ten and four which I actually held. In truth, I had seen the fight-tickets as a perfect opportunity to seek out Pashmi.

 

“Do you know what I mean if I refer to someone's Grace or humor?” Twilight Tommy questioned Amy directly.

“Of course,” Amaryllis flapped her hand once at Tommy, “it’s the connection and devotion we share with a Season.” The capital S was audible. “You and I both raised the Rust-Red Spear of Summerfire, for example.” Her wide mouth smiled with a fierce comradary.

“Okay, good,” Twilight Tommy confirmed, “so, um, you also know that Summerfire chose us because we tend to share certain attitudes and outlooks, right?”

          “I have never considered such things,” Amaryllis half-shrugged, inadvertently making one plump breast tease at the edge of her bandeau, “I merely trust that Summerfire would only accept those that were worthy… Though, I believe that amounts to the same.”

          Twilight Tommy cleared his throat, nodded, and yanked his gaze away from the dryad’s chest, as subtly as possible. Then the lad shifted his legs, to raise his blankets enough to obscure any further embarrassments, as he was also still thinking about Pashmi, before returning to his narrative.

 

Anyway, in the Western Territory they tend to refer to cholericly humored individuals as Wielding Summerfire’s Spades and Pashmi also shared that Grace with me. So, in addition to simply wanting to get to know the sultry East-Indian lady better, I was pretty sure that she would like seeing the fight.

          Thus, after poker and another wyrd foraging session—to replace what I had spent at the ‘Hold'em table, I headed over to the Shark Reef attraction in Mandalay Bay. The coppery-skinned and bright-eyed Pashmi, often worked at the animal attraction’s ticket booth.

When working, Pashmi was required to wear the same unflattering brown uniform as most of the Mandalay Bay’s staff. Even so, the unflattering polyester vest and bow tie struggled to hide Pashmi’s nature, which was far better suited to wearing much more graceful and elegant garments. Pashmi was five-foot-two, curvaceous, and moved with the controlled flexibility of an athlete. The woman was in her early twenties with a pretty apple-shaped face, skin the color of a burnished penny with roiling smoky accents, dark purple-grey almond-shaped eyes, tapered ears (like mine), midnight blue-black hair (usually in three plaited braids), full lips, and henna-style gold-tattoos on her hands and forearms. The lady’s choleric humor manifested in the metal sheen of her skin and lightning flashes of a summer-storm in the back of her mouth and the twinkles of her smoldering eyes, as well as a more common radiant aura of warmth. For some reason I suspected that the slowly churning smoky-duskiness, which visibly shifted below her skin and in the color of her eyes, was more an aspect of her spirit-touched form than her Summerfire’s Grace.

I could not stop grinning madly as Pashmi and I exchanged quick greetings. Pashmi’s own plush lips and large eyes smiled back at me, although with much more poise. As the gorgeous woman had been working, I could not delay her line too long. So, I got right to it, “I have a couple of tickets to the Bradley-Márquez fight tomorrow. Would you like to go with me?”

          Pashmi’s smile disappeared behind pursed pillowy-lips and an expression which said that she was considering the offer, yet was not happy about something. After a moment the exotic lady replied, “I would very much like to see that fight and I can call in a favor to swap shifts for tomorrow. However,” her smoked-honey voice became a little more tart. “I will not be making a habit of rearranging my plans for such short notice… I will meet you here, before the fight, and afterwards you may take me to a nice dinner. But, only because I _really_ want to see Márquez beat Bradley, in person.”

          The gentle t _hrum-twang_ of a small faery bargain struck, settled into my inner being. I was inclined to think of the metaphysical sensation as reassuring. Although, I did remind myself that any such deals could still be broken. On the other hand, I found it hard to believe that Pashmi would risk marking herself as an oathbreaker, just avoid going on a date with me.

“Um, tomorrow at, uh, 7:30, uh, here, then.” I pointed gormlessly to the ground, then smiled and finished paying for my new long term pass to the Golden Duchy. Then, I waved and headed to the duchy’s Pleasure Gardens, before I could say anything to jinx my success, or pass out.

My pulse raced almost as fast as if I had over-dosed on wyrd again. I was super-glad that Pashmi had been behind the Plexiglas booth, or else I may have been expected to shake her hand, and my palms were unpleasantly slick. It was not that I had never dated before, just that it had been rare. Plus, Pashmi was so far out of my league, both for appearance and poise. Yet, for some reason the dusky lass had enjoyed herself enough on our first date, to accept a second. I had to forcibly think of something else, to avoid making myself nauseous fretting over how I would ever be entertaining enough a second time.

My distraction of choice was money. Specifically, in what proportion I would spread my winnings—between mundane cash, electronic founds, and Red Court coinage. For once I had expended the excess wyrd, I had done quite well at the poker table. Luckily, both duchies of the Red Court, d’Or and d’Argent provided money changers and the latter even offered guarded lock-boxes for rent. Hence, my other reason for interacting with the alluring Pashmi, there was no other way to get down into the cavernous Golden Duchy, to procure such a lock-box. And currency.

I shall not recount the tediousness of banking. Suffice to say that I came away with easily carried gold for any future fae transactions. Whistling jauntily, I walked my wearying bones back up the long stairs to the mundane world and then through Mandalay Bay. In addition to the wealth, I was pleased with the routine which I had outlined for myself. Poker playing provided cash for my mundane needs, as well as complimentary vouchers for entertainments, and offered more excuses to see Pashmi, as I passed by to bank my winnings. Plus, Interacting at the gaming tables was a solid start to achieving my “Socialize more” goals. All together, process also seemed to help to keep me mentally organized. I was so self-satisfied, I even splurged and paid for a taxi to drive me back out to Red Rock Canyon.

Although, once seated in the cab, it occurred to me that I would need to be careful with exactly how routine I actually was. I did not want to be identified as a hustler and risk being banded from any of the casinos. I also had to wonder if there was a way for other spirit-touched to detect my casting of fortune altering glamours. So, I used the drive to write myself a little chart to follow—designating which casinos I would frequent and how often. I would especially avid the RED COURT territories of Mandalay Bay and the Mirage, for both gambling and foraging, just in case that would be considered poaching.

All in all, I was feeling good, for all of the personal housekeeping I had accomplished, mental and otherwise. There were still important issues to address and moral states to evaluate, yet I smiled at my progress. That was, until my cabbie made a fuss about leaving me alone, in the wilderness, in the middle of the night, and I had to doubled his fair and tip in order for him to drive off. So, I wound up berating myself for the wasteful spendthrifery or not catching the bus, all the way back to the portal and the wonderful haven in the Between.

 

Twilight Tommy waited for a dozen or so heartbeats, watching the placid dryad for any response, before prompting, “So, um, that’s uh what I did yesterday.” Tommy did not stress all of the thinking, as he still wanted Amy to forget about trying to cajole him into becoming a tree-hermit.

“It sounds as if you were fairly active.” Amaryllis’s face seemed even more wooden than usual, with its lack of expression. “Was that all you wanted to say?” Her question seemed earnest, in spite of its neutral tone.

“Um…” Twilight Tommy sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, while he tried to fathom Amy’s detachment. “Uh, yeah, that’s all I have… But I hope we can talk like this some more later.” He smiled depreciatively. “Maybe you’ll be able to get more of a word in.”

Amaryllis smiled and nodded. Then the tree-spirit stood and in so doing melded back into the wall and out of Tommy’s room. Twilight Tommy went about preparing for his day. After recording some ideas for his next dryad discussion, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	2. Chapter 2

II

The following day, Twilight Tommy once more awoke to the golden play of late-morning sunlight in his warm solarium-attic. The bedroom was always warm and comforting, regardless of the time of day or the chill autumnal-weather outside. Somewhat unsettlingly, though, the living oaken walls and floors were never far from body temperature.

As Tommy lay luxuriating in his red-flannel pajamas and undyed-silk sheets, he contemplated the rest of his meager décor. The bed-frame grown from the wall, like a floating-shelf, with its surprisingly soft sawdust and feather mattress. Just past the foot of the bed, stood the large wardrobe, also grown into/from the wall and floor, with a built-in chest of drawers. Tommy’s unblemished brow creased sadly at the wardrobes nearly empty quality, as it did with the rest of the room as a whole. Across the room to the bed’s right, was formed a delightful roll-top desk and a wheeled desk-chair—the single unaffixed furnishing. The desk and chair looked as if an old pirate-captain may be missing them, except that wheeled seating was a bad nautical choice. Tom’s frown made its way down to his full-lips, for other than some unopened Morton’s salt containers, an assortment of writing supplies, and a bauble or two, he had really contributed any personality to his room.

          As Twilight Tommy lay there considering decorations, he noticed the headboard’s “tongue” once more. Also, like the previous morning, the curly-blond elf had stayed out late, which meant that he had returned through the magic-portal even later (thanks to the time-zone difference). Which, in turn, accounted for the long minute or so that it took Tommy to recall the meaning of the pink note, along with the previous day’s attempt to connect with Amy, as an individual.

After reflecting on that largely one-sided conversation, Tommy decided to make more of an effort towards dialog. Twilight Tommy once again tapped the wall, to his left, and politely asked for the dryad’s attention.

Tommy yelped when Amaryllis stuck her face into his room only seconds later. The sprite was still getting used to the tree-spirit’s almost ghostly methods of movement. Plus, on this occasion the round-face of the dryad had formed in the ceiling, directly above him. From Amy’s perspective, it was merely the simplest way to speak with the elfin lad face-to-face, while he remained laying in bed.

Lacquer-glossed dark-brown eyes twinkled, as Amaryllis giggled at Tommy’s cry of surprise. “My goodness, you are high strung.”

Twilight Tommy relaxed and chuckled along. The amber-eyed lad generally found it easier to relax around Amy , than most other fae. It helped that Amaryllis was so pleasant to look at, of course. At least, until the self-conscious lad had to speak, then there was the whole jumble of trying to sound relaxed without blurting out something foolish—like, “your face looks like a smiling peach, in a flame-colored cascade.”

“Perhaps,” the forest-spirit teased, in light of Tommy’s silence, “if we lowered your room, that would help.”

“No, no,” Tommy extended his palms to arms length and waggled them, at the pretty dryad, “I’ll, um, be fine. I was probably, uh, just concentrating harder than I needed to.” He brushed the thick golden-locks from his brow and changed the subject as quickly as possible away from the idea of moving his room’s perfect position. “Um, If your not busy, uh, I was um wondering if you would mind sitting up here and having tea with me?”

          Amaryllis narrowed her eyes and sort of pursed one side of her luscious mouth. “I suppose you’re expecting me to serve you breakfast up here.” Her tone was more flat than neutral.

          “What?” Twilight Tommy blinked large crystalline orange eyes. “No, no, I, uh, just wanted to talk. And, um, thought it would be nicer to share tea, than, um, just sit around, like yesterday…” He rubbed the back of his neck and closed one eye tight, while watching Amy sidelong. “But, uh, since you mentioned it. Um, it _would_ be nice if you, uh, could get the tea. While, um, I cleaned up and got dressed… and, uh, if there were any of yesterday’s delicious scones left, um, _and_ you felt like bringing some of those as well…” He tilted his head to one side in an exaggerated shrug, “then, um, that would be very nice too.”

          For a moment, Amy’s syrup-colored lips pressed thin, although her large eyes held no irritation. “Alright, you go clean up and I will meet you back here when you are done.” She then disappeared back into the wall.

          Twilight Tommy quickly hopped out of bed and loosely straitened the bedding, then he grabbed up some clean clothes from his wardrobe. As he stepped into the chill autumn air, Tommy reconciled going all the way down to the full bath for a shower. Rinsing clean in the half-bath would be good enough. Plus, the smaller lavatory was just down one short flight of steps, rather than three stairways and four rope bridges., since

          The half-bath, unlike the opulent full-bath, was more of a fancy indoor outhouse. Exceptionally clean and polished dark-wood top to bottom, with a big blue-grey ceramic basin for a sink. The toilet seat and were of matching ceramic, otherwise it seemed to be a simple box. The basin did have a couple of grey-blue ceramic pipes with butterfly valves over it and somehow the commode had an automatic flush. No mirror, although fresh hand-towels, soap, and toilet-paper (made from magically-softened pressed leaves) were always well stocked. The one feature which inevitably made Tommy grin, at the acknowledgement to the outhouse vibe, was the room's only small crescent-shaped window of frosted-glass.

          Twilight Tommy stripped down, wiped down with a soapy wash-cloth, rinsed, dried, and dressed in day clothes—as well as taking care of his other bodily functions—as swiftly as possible. Even so, by the time Twilight Tommy returned, scrubbed and shiny, to his room, Amaryllis was there with a complete tea service for two—including scones, toast, butter, honey, and jam.

The tree-spirit had grown a small single-post-supported table up from the bedroom’s floor, on which rested the fine porcelain tea service. Tommy’s pale-leather and dark-wood desk-chair awaited him, roughly in the middle of the room, as the table had sprouted close to the wall between his doorway and wardrobe. Amaryllis sat with her back mostly melding into the wall, with no other visible means of support.

The dryad wore her long slit-dress of autumnal leaves and vines. As Twilight Tommy entered he could see below the table and noted the woodland-spirit’s rarely seen bare feet, although he was on the wrong side of the dress to fully appreciate the hip-high split in the otherwise leg covering garment. Rather than her matching bandeau, Amaryllis wore a spaghetti strap camisole-style short top, also made of colorful leaves and vines, though slightly more loose fitting than her constrictive bandeau. So, the dryad looked as if she would have been more in place at a fashionable nightclub. Therefore, Twilight Tommy felt a little underdressed as he took his seat, wearing his jeans and brown polo-shirt—his golden-brown feet were also bare.

Amaryllis’s round-face and supple muscular body-language conveyed her standard mildly-amused detachment, as she waited patiently. Twilight Tommy also noted that his bed had been made much more expertly, before catching on to Amy’s posture. So, the spritely lad simply started serving them both and opened the conversation with what he assumed would be light small-talk, about the day’s weather. Only, Tommy found himself, many minutes later, wondering if he would be able to retain any of the dryad’s response.

Weather was a complex and impassioned topic for Amaryllis, as she was one with a living tree and thus more directly connected to earth and sky. Luckily, for Twilight Tommy, Amy did not seem to mind his uniformed responses, nor his apparent (yet polite) disinterest at her detailed and technical observations. Tommy imagined that he deserved the treatment, considering how he had monopolized the previous day’s conversation, even if Amy did not mean to mirror the effect.

Eventually, the dialog opened up enough that Twilight Tommy felt comfortable asking Amy a more personal question. “Have you always been here, in the Briar, and attached to this tree?”

Amaryllis thought a long time, before answering, while absently sucking in her leaf-red lower lip. Then the shapely dryad traced the grain of the wooden table-top with one long-elegant finger as she thought and spoke. “I… I have been here a long time. Before, there was a different place… and a lady…” Amy’s resonant voice had taken on a childlike cadence, as if she were reliving a memory from when she was just a toddler. Amy’s words were also thick with emotion—an unclear mixture of longing, regret, confusion, and fear. “The lady was big. She was… she was, mother. Then there was another lady,” her tone and attitude became rigid, “but I don’t want to speak of that! It was long ago.”

The clearly deep emotions Amaryllis was experiencing, made Twilight Tommy feel a little as if he had inadvertently pried into something which neither of the duo were ready to delve further. So, the lad briefly squirmed uneasily in his seat and changed the subject more abruptly and with less grace than he had intended. Twilight Tommy made, yet another mental note to learn how to be less flustered around the pretty woman, without having to expend wyrd on his Charming Tongue glamour. However, since he was in the middle of a conversation and needed a new topic fast, Tommy fell back on what he knew best and came to mind first, a recounting of an innocuous moment from his previous day’s activities.

 

So, on Saturday, when I had realized that my Bradley v. Márquez tickets were for the next day (yesterday), I also noticed that my comp passes to the House of Blues were only valid through Monday. I was not really interested in seeing the musician. Besides, I knew that there was no way Pashmi would rearrange her schedule again so soon, even if she did want to see Santanna.

Instead, I found a tourist lady—girl really, she had probably not yet been twenty-one—to buy the music club tickets. The young woman was a fake-blond and wore her best Sears (or possibly Old Navy) attire, along with a needy, hopeful expression under too much make-up. I actually was quite lucky, as I had noticed the blond-ish woman striding purposefully from the House of Blues ticket booth to the Mandalay Bay concierge.

On a hunch, I followed the tourist and overheard her pleading with the mundane concierge fellow. “Isn’t there anything you can do? It’s my fiancée’s birthday and he really wants to see Santanna.” Her voice had the faintest nasally-southern accent and she batted her over mascara-ed eyes at the young man behind the counter.

I moved up next to the supposed birthday-boy’s best gal and said, “Excuse me, did you say you wanted to see Santanna?”

The middle-aged concierge looked at me with relief, because he knew that there had been nothing he could do for the guest-lady and it looked like I would solve the problem for him. I also detected a little avarice in the employee’s gaze, so I suspected that he was gay and the needy girl’s fluttering eyes would not have worked even if they had been as attractive as her beaux seemed to think. The lass just turned to me as if she were in the deep ocean and I had been a rescue vessel.

The two of us stepped away from the counter and I sold her my vouchers for the full price listed on them. I had been tempted to scalp the lady for more. Especially since I was sure that she had been lying about the birthday and I did not like being lied to. On the other hand, the two of us were on Duchy d’Or’s turf and I did not want to risk upsetting that court, by plucking their pigeons—as Sean Tallwind might say. Besides, I figured that the tarted up norman had really lied to the concierge, not me.

I even felt that tell-tale _twing-mmm_ of a bargain being struck, with the immediate _Mm-gniwt_ of it being fulfilled, as our money and tickets exchanged hands. Which surprised me that a deal so small would warrant the Gyr’s involvement. So, I made a note to look up more information on the Gyr-binding nature of promises.

 

“Gyr-binding?” Amaryllis asked, as if making sure she had heard the correct phrase.

          Twilight Tommy was pleased, as Amy had seemed so distracted that he had not been sure she was listening at all. “Yeah,” he confirmed, “it’s, uh, sort of like when we all agreed to live here and help defend your tree. Only it works with pretty much any promise, bargain, or agreement.” He shrugged and picked up his teacup. “As far as I can tell, the Gyr somehow tracks all of our dealings. And if we break our word, then bad things happen to us.”

          “Ah, yes.” Amaryllis nodded with understanding and remembrance. “Gaea punishes those that do not fulfill their purposes.”

          Tommy replaced his teacup on the saucer and scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “I’m not sure it is about purpose…”

          Amaryllis tilted her head from side to side atop her long supple neck. “Some purposes are chosen for you, while others are chosen by you. Gaea, or the Gyr, as you say, takes care of all of them and is wroth if you deviate from the paths you have chosen…” She sipped some tea. “Obviously, you cannot diverge from the paths Gaea has laid, so that is never a real concern.”

          Even though, Twilight Tommy’s impression of the Gyr was more akin It being like electromagnetism or quantum physics, he understood that many fae believed the Gyr to have a godlike personality. Since Amy clearly seemed to be one of those fae, Tommy suspected that challenging her on the interpretation, would result in an argument. Which might be a fun exercise later. For the moment, however, the boyish elf steered clear of the distinctions. Tommy resolved to reopen the subject, if he could remember to more thoroughly research his side of the argument, in Ariadne’s rare books of faery lore.

          Instead the conversation drifted about in more shallow and placid currents—whom was at home, what might the coming winter be like, bird-watching, and the like. Tea was sipped and bready treats nibbled. Amaryllis seemed to blithely take most everything in stride, either understanding far more of the mundane world than Tommy had expected, or not caring enough to take a greater interest in unfamiliar phrases. Although, every so often, the woodland-spirit would come at Tommy from a blind spot.

          Such as, when Twilight Tommy had absently made a comment about his collective’s refrigerator, in the mundane ranch-style home which they all rented. “Refrigerator?” Amaryllis’s rich resonant voice cut in.

          “Um, yeah,” Twilight Tommy rubbed his neck, “uh, a ‘fridge, or refrigerator, is like a wardrobe-style pantry for food. Only, uh, they also keep the food cold, so it lasts longer.”

          The dryad merely nodded once and said “Okay.” Then the conversation continued, as it had been.

          By and by, Twilight Tommy built up enough courage to attempt another foray. Into more serious matters. “I’m, uh, curious about you Amy, but I, um, I don’t want to accidently upset you. So, uh, I’m not sure of the best way to ask, uh, certain things.”

Amaryllis just stared at Tommy with her big brown doe-eyes and blinked expectantly, a slight smile on her maple-red lips. The blond sprite could not tell if the smile was meant as encouragement or simply amusement. A difficulty that Tommy generally had with women. This time the pointy-eared fellow chose to interpret Amy’s look as tacit approval, if not outright encouragement.

Twilight Tommy took a breath, stuck out his lower lip, and exhaled a slow jet of air upwards, ruffling his yellow-streaked sandy bangs, before pressing on. ”For example, uh, you have given the, ah, impression that in order to provide food for this household, um, you must go collect the ingredients.”

The tree-spirit nodded her round face, brow knitting slightly in confusion—apparently over why Tommy stated the obvious.

“So, um, how far can you go from the oak?” Twilight Tommy asked.

          “That’s a silly question.” Amaryllis’s smile filled her face, the wood grain enhancing her expression, as she replied with delight, lightly flapping one hand at Tommy. “How far do you travel without your nose?” She giggled.

Twilight Tommy stared blankly at his breakfast companion for a while, then said. “The manner in which my nose is attached, means it must stay with me as I go from place to place. But,” a single finger raised, to accentuate his distinction, “ I have seen you moving away from the tree?” Tommy made it sound as much like a question as he could.

Amaryllis rolled her large lacquered-eyes, placed her hands on her hips, and said with pride, “My roots are deep and spread wide.”

Rather than risk further raising of the choleric woman’s pique, Twilight Tommy changed the subject back to the approaching winter. The luminous lad did return to the how-far-Amy-could-travel question, at a later date, just long enough to confirm the tree-spirit’s meaning. The buxom humanoid-form of the dryad was always in contact with some part of her oak. When anyone else saw the pretty Amaryllis apparently walking on the ivy and grass of the haven’s clearing, her soles were in fact directly affixed to one or more of the colossal tree’s roots. The roots having been moved up through the soil, for the purpose of manifesting Amy.

After a little more small talk, Twilight Tommy clumsily high-jacked the conversation again. The gem-eyed elf knew he should just let Amaryllis go about her day. However, Tommy had always been a bit obsessive and having been turned into a spirit-touched seemed to have exacerbated that quality about certain things. As much as Twilight Tommy was honest about his note taking and other writing being helpful for his memory, it was also a compulsion which he was not sure that he could stop, if he wanted to. The idea of not recounting the rest of his previous day’s highlights, after having already started with the ticket selling story, made Tommy dizzy. So, he once more subjected Amaryllis to his innocuous “adventure”.

 

I arrived half-an-hour early, to meet Pashmi, for our date (our second) to the boxing match. When the smoldering eyed lass asked if we would be taking a cab to the Mirage, my conviction that Taxies were a rip-off evaporated. So, I paid for a cab and, to be fair, with Pashmi leaning her shoulder on mine for the ride, I would have paid double for half the journey.

          My wine-red silk shirt and Italian leather shoes were articles which Pashmi had selected for me, as part of our first date. I tried not to fidget with my leather wrist-cuff accented with fifty-dollar d’Or-minted gold coins, telling myself “Either it offsets the low-rent-ness of my Old-Navy jeans, or it doesn’t. tugging at it can only look like bragging”.. Luckily, my elegant escort also wore a simple pair of jeans, although her’s were skin-tight. Regardless of brand, Pashmi’s legs would make any pants that form-fitting look designer—the white-stitched seams were like roads, accentuating her every curve. Additionally, Pashmi’s blousy orange top offered only seductive hints of the rest of her landscape.

Bradley had won the fight, which I barely noticed. A combination of the particular anger of a sports crowd and being next to Pashmi had kept me from caring much about the event itself. Honestly, leading up to the bout, a lot of my brain power went into not tripping over my own feet, or something equally sloppy. Then, since Juan Márquez had been favorite to win, the anger and frustration of most of the crowd washed over the auditorium. Sensation of so much available wyrd easily overwhelmed those joyous few fight-goers whom had been routing for Tim Bradley, as well as my self-consciousness.

I even took the opportunity to try “sipping” in just some wyrd. Partially, I wanted to see if I could identify the point where the fantasies of punishing Bradley—and to some extent Márquez, as well—changed into mystical wyrd energy. I was also practicing how to avoid overindulged intoxication. Although, mainly I replenished what I had expended during the fight, as I had cast various Fortune's Favor on Bradley and Fickle Fortunes on Márquez.

After the fight, the wave of anger pooling briefly before draining out of the arena, with the departing patrons, I shuffled along with my jaw clenched. Having failed to place a bet on the underdog, who I had just helped win, I had to bight back my tirade of self reproach.

As my date and I exited the auditorium and walked more normally to Stack (a premium steakery, for which I had comps), I assuaged myself. I had only considered applying my glamorous influence once the fight had started and I had recalled that Pashmi had wanted to see Bradley win. At least, that was the outcome I had thought that I remembered her advocating the day before. So, without having applied forethought, I told myself I had still done well. My slight winnowing induced buzz help, as well.

          By the time we were seated at the gourmet steak house, I was all smiles, again. Until, dusky Pashmi observed, “Márquez should have won. He must still be reeling from fighting Pacquiao, a couple of weeks ago. Márquez should have won then too.” She sipped her wine.

Which was when I realized that I had misremembered my dates fighter preference. Luckily, almond-eyed Pashmi took my stricken expression as commiseration, rather than guilt. Plus, both of us were still a bit more hyped than usual from the excessive wyrd. So, even though Pashmi’s pick had lost, she remained in a good mood overall and was still excited to talk about the match.

          I also took Pashmi’s wyrd-tipsiness as a sign that my moderated winnowing experiment had been successful. If I only seemed as far gone as the more experienced spirit-touched, then I must have done something right.

          “Maybe you’re giving him more credit than he deserves.” I ventured, doing what I could to keep the conversation on a topic which my companion enjoyed. In spite of wanting to avoid it, so as not to accidentally reveal my mistake.

          Pashmi shrugged a half-acceptance of the possibility. I liked making Pashmi shrug, the orange blouse did distracting ripply things—like sunset through a heat-haze.

As with our first date, my time and conversation with the sophisticated and yet down-to-earth lady was easy. When the topics changed, I told Pashmi of my companion’s slaughter of the redcaps and she was as rapt as she had been with the blow-by-blow recounting of the Bradley win.

“Maybe,” I baited the hook for a date number three, “I’ll tell you about our Child’s Rite adventure, next time.”

“ _Hmm_ ,” Pashmi purred, “unless I can coax it out of you later tonight.” Then she licked a bit of meat juice from the finger which she had surreptitiously slid across her plate.

I was not going to be bested easily , though. If I had any hopes of keeping such an appealing lady’s attention for a third date, I knew I would have to keep that tale on ice. So, our conversation ebbed and flowed, to other topics.

At one point, I was saying something about my group’s mundane rental house, probably along the lines of “I can’t believe none of them will even by an air-mattress to sleep on, let alone any other furniture.”

“You know,” Practical Pashmi suggested, with one delicate and warm hand on my knee, “there are plenty of inexpensive hotel rooms, off the Strip. I could show you one, tonight.”

My mind did the split thing that it does sometimes. Part of me maintained polite conversation, while trying not to do or say anything to cause Pashmi to disengage her physical contact. Although, most of my mind explored the possibilities of her suggestion. I liked the idea of a simple bolt-hole in which to cache another paranoia-pack, charge electronics, and probably park a car. On the other hand, I really planned on getting a sports car of some kind and that was not going to be suitable to driving off-road in Red Rock, to get back to the haven’s portal. Not to mention that the free parking areas, within the Sate Park, were no where near my haven’s magical doorway.

I knew that I was not paying as much attention to Pashmi as was strictly polite, yet my daydreaming also meant that I was not slavering, stammering or in any other way acting my typically awkward self. I had just started to consider alternative vehicles, when other parts of my consciousness demanded my full attention.

Pashmi and I had walked and chatted, all the way back to Mandalay Bay and then down to the Pleasure Gardens. I vaguely recalled having absently offered to show the sultry woman one of the redcaps’ ball-caps. If we were away from norman eyes, as I was not sure that the blood-encrusted headwear still had a Masque.

 

“Masque?” Amaryllis interjected with a far away look in her large brown eyes. “That’s a funny way of saying it… it almost sounds familiar, though. Is the hat a mask because the redcaps held it over their faces? How did they see?”

“Ah, um, no, uh,” Twilight Tommy was finding it difficult to understand the question. Eventually the fair-faced lad settled for the academic answer, which he had seen in a book at Ariadne’s Freehold, and hoped that Amy would not find it patronizing. “The Masque, uh, as I understand it, is like, um, an ancient bargain that all spirit-touched share with the mundane world. It, uh, hides all of our faery aspects from mortal senses and recording devices.” He scratched the back of his head. “Supposedly, as long as we don’t drop the Masque, it makes it a lot harder for the Folk to find and re-capture us in the mundane world.”

“Hmm…” dark lacquered eyes narrowed, although the dryad’s brow did not furrow, as she seemed to be adjusting some internal beliefs. “I suppose even a weed may serve a purpose. But, I hardly think this Masque of yours makes up for all the rest of that nasty place.” She flicked a hand dismissively. “Plus, you said it doesn’t always work.”

“Um, no, not exactly.” Twilight Tommy spoke with cautious politeness. “I just said that I did not know if the redcap hats still qualified for the protection. And, uh, didn’t want to find out in a crowded place. Since I, um, kept them in, uh, vacuum sealed Zip-Lock bags,, uh, they’re still pretty gory.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure how to tell if they are forever fae, or the magic died with their owners.”

.         Amaryllis merely sniffed at the distinction, “And you carry them with you?”

          Tommy bit his full lower-lip and glanced at his forest-green pack. “Well, um, not all of them.” He half shrugged. “I, uh, assume that they’re good, um for potential trades. And I, uh, wouldn’t want to need one for a, uh, deal and not have it handy.”

Amaryllis merely bobbed her head, as if weighing the logic, and selected another triangle of toast to nibble. After a moment, Twilight Tommy wrapped-up his narrative.       

 

Anyway, as Pashmi was keen to see my gruesome spoils of “war”, she had led me to a secluded little grove in the Golden Duchy’s unlikely cavern foliage. Wherein, after showing off my still slightly-damp bloody trophy and before I really knew what was happening, Pashmi and I made out like high-school teens—for what seemed like far too short a time. Although, my cheeks and lips ached pleasantly for at least another hour—enhanced, I am sure, due to having secured a third date on the upcoming Wednesday. The physical sensation lasted long enough for me to make my way back to our haven’s portal, while an appealing inner warmth remained with me, well into slumber.

          Although, I did retain enough wherewithal to make some notes on my trip home. In addition to underlining “Research and Purchase desert-durable bike”, I added “Get nicer bag, for Vegas”. Even though polite Pashmi had not seemed to care, I had felt self conscious with my cheap Wal-Mart pack, while paired up with such a designer beauty.

 

“Well, you seem to have been very engaged with your day.” Amaryllis had again resorted to her mostly neutral, yet still upbeat, attitude, as she raised her teacup to her lips with the tips of the fingers of both hands.

Twilight Tommy could not fathom why the normally energetically enthusiastic lass had once more seemed to grow distant, just as their conversation was winding down. At a pure guess the light-sprite speculated about a continued imbalance of reciprocity. “So, um, is there, uh, like anything that I can, um you know uh, do or provide?” He went to rub his neck with his right hand, only to realize that his left hand was already performing the task. “I mean, um, I know that you do a lot to take care of all of us. So, uh, is there something I can do to make that easier?”

Even that was not exactly what Twilight Tommy meant. However before the smooth-skin lad could try and clarify further, Amy’s head snapped up from her teacup.

Deep glossy-brown eyes held Tommy’s own amber-orbs intently and Amaryllis replied eagerly, almost hungrily, “You could give me more magic. I could do a lot more, with more magic.”

Twilight Tommy only had a small sense of the permanent inner-personal magical-energy which he and his colleagues had provided to secure the oak-haven as their own. That magic had been deeper than wyrd, more resilient than a typical promise, and harder to recoup. Twilight Tommy was willing to give more of that ill-defined personal-magic to the dryad, however he knew from that past experience that he alone did not have enough of it to make much of an impact.

“Uh, well,” Twilight Tommy placed both palms on the table to either side of the little plate he had been using. “I would have to see what the others are able to add...”

Insistent Amaryllis sensed the reason for Tommy’s hesitation and said, still eagerly, “It need not be as before. You all enact your glamours. I could use some of that magic…” She stomped her foot, soundlessly, and her round face pinched in frustration. “Oh, what did you call it? It was a familiar name…””

“Wyrd?” Twilight Tommy suggested.

“Yesyesyes!” Amaryllis clapped—the sound of two wood-blocks from an orchestras percussion section. “Ooh, that’s it! Wyrd. I could really use some wyrd.”

Twilight Tommy leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest and staring into an unseen middle distance. “Can that even be done? Can I just give you wyrd? I assumed that you would need to thresh or winnow directly from a human.. I, um, I don’t think I could bring one here…” he raised both tanned hands in general surrender. “Don’t get me wrong, Amy. I’m absolutely interested and willing to give it, I, uh, I just don’t know ho…”

Amaryllis cut into the sprite’s flighty ramblings. “There are all kinds of fruits and nuts and berries and leaves,” she tapped the table for emphasis—sounding akin to a wooded dowel rapping an oak butcher’s block, “out there.” Her free hand pointed to the Briar. “I eat too, you know?!”

“ _Ohhhh_ ,” Twilight Tommy dropped his hands to his lap, his sparkling eyes wide with realization, “you mean Briar-fruit, like hob’s delight.”

The look that Amaryllis leveled at Tommy said “duh” as loud as any words could have.

Twilight Tommy thought about the concept, for a long moment, then said, “I will certainly keep an eye out, in my travels. Although, Tegan or Rai would probably be better at gathering such things. So, I’ll will totally mention it to them, as well.”

Tommy actually even remembered to mention the tree-mistress’s request to the wondrous Miss Bramblerose, when next he saw her. However, Twilight Tommy did not bother telling the panther-beastling, as around that time the generally uncommunicative Raion-ju had taken to sulking in his room. Tommy simply had not been interested in trying to draw him out.

          Before then, though, still back at the end of that Monday morning teatime, Amaryllis had crossed her arms and slumped back—obscuring most of her torso within the wall from which she was suspended. “Well, I suppose, if that is the best you can do, then that is the best you can do…” She sighed, causing her protruding camisoled-breasts to seem to slide up and down the flat wall. “Perhaps, you will also tell me more about that redcap slaughter, sometime. For now,” She kept speaking, preventing Tommy from launching into the story, “you should probably get these dishes to the kitchen sink.” The sweet-seeming lass smiled and faded all the way backwards into the wall.

          Twilight Tommy shook his head in reluctant admiration for Amy’s deft power play with the chore hand-off. The lad did take the time to jot down a few notes, regarding the conversation. Especially, adding “Gifting wyrd?” to his list of research items. Then, while mulling over what (if anything) Amy’s temperament meant, Tommy worked out the logistics of getting the dishes cleared up.

Since no tray had been provided, Twilight Tommy considered multiple trips to and from the kitchen—effectively two stories away. Then, the blond elf remembered that he had a plastic garbage-bag, in his paranoia pack (originally intended as an emergency raincoat). Tommy gently placed all of the porcelain dishware and wooden knives and spoons into the black-plastic container and carefully carried the bag to the kitchen. Tommy even unloaded the contents carefully into the sink, where he left them, since once they were out of his room they had been taken care of –as far as he was concerned—and Amy had not said to wash them.

By the time Twilight Tommy had returned to his room, to prepare for the rest of the day, the two-person pedestal table had been removed, presumably reabsorbed, back into the floor from wince it had come.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	3. Chapter 3

III

Over the next week, Twilight Tommy moved his conversations with Amaryllis to before bed, rather than upon waking. Another aspect of the luminous sprite’s occasionally obsessive personality was to seek solutions to puzzles which he had created within his own mind and Amy was one such conundrum. So, Tommy theorized that meeting before he slept might put both he and the delightful dryad into more relaxed states of mind. Also, the timing would prevent Twilight Tommy from dominating the conversation, as he would be getting drowsier.       Even so, the duo still shared tea, or played cards, or some other game while they recounted their days or discussed the other members of the tree-house-hold.

          The tactic worked better than Twilight Tommy had anticipated, although more on him than Amaryllis. The talks gave Tommy a greater sense of home, friendship, and routine. While the tree-spirit usually remained incredibly calm and nonplused, conversing with her over inconsequential things, for an hour or so, proved remarkably soothing—perfect for preparing to rest, like a sounds of the forest recording.

          However, it should be pointed out that even though Twilight Tommy remained skeptical of his other spirit-touched haven-mates, he did not avoid conversing with them, either. Generally the somewhat high-strung elf simply found the others too inert to be as soothing or interesting as a tree (even ignoring the tree’s sexy avatar form). On the other hand, a few noteworthy moments did come from one or another of the other gang members over that week.

          The first such moment happened that Tuesday evening. Twilight Tommy had just trudged through the creaking-whispering Wilder Woods, from Athens, with a fairly cumbersome burden on his back.

Tommy’s amber eyes sparkled with yellowed excitement, in the light of his fairy aura. The cautious elf was returning home after a day of overcome internal trepidation, as well as having received some much anticipated mail. Yet, Tommy’s brow was furrowed with a modicum of personal disappointment. Even though the burden the slender lad carried was a reward to himself, for the day’s earlier triumphs, he had needed to employ his Summer’s Might glamour in order to have the strength and endurance to lug the burden through the Thorny Maze. Twilight Tommy could not help feeling as if he were disrespecting Summerfire’s shared secrets by squandering the magic on beast-of-burden work, rather than glorious combat.

Normally, Twilight Tommy was more proud to be one of the fight with words, instead of fists, cholerically inclined spirit-touched. However, something about the glamour hardening his muscles simply made him more aware of the more brutal possibilities of their use. Which, in turn, only made Tommy worry again, that he was turning into a killing machine, like most of his housemates.

The yellowish eyes of triumph and furrowed brow of consternation also bespoke of the trek that Twilight Tommy was completing. The wary sprite had departed Ariadne’s Freehold before sunset, yet still had not made it through the spine-tightening, breath-shortening, low-visibility, skitter-crunching, something-might-pounce-at-any-moment Wilder Woods, until well past dark. So, the elation of making it safely through the nerve-wracking hike, on top of the rest of the day, amounted to a relatively balanced amount of satisfaction and irritation, overall. However, Twilight Tommy anticipated tipping the scales favorably by telling Amaryllis about his day. Unfortunately, that simple pleasure was premptively countered, upon entering the tree-house.

The face of Amaryllis appeared in the oaks trunk, as if the bark had been smoothed into the chipper facial features. As Twilight Tommy climbed the plank-like branches, which formed the spiral stairs, up to the main floor entrance (two or three stories above the ground), Amy’s visage remained parallel to his—sliding in an effortless corkscrew up the oak’s wide base. “Oh, good, you made it in time!” Before Tommy could even enjoy the idea that the dryad might have been looking forward to his specific return, she added. “The rest are just sitting down to supper. So, you can join then and I won’t have to reheat anything or do a second set of dishes.”

Twilight Tommy sighed, reflecting that from his perspective eating alone or with his haven-mates was rarely different. Except that with the others there would inevitably be a maddening echo chamber effect, as none of them would listen yet each would ask for a personal repetition of anything said. Tommy hoped that he was exaggerating the phenomena, due to his conflicted mood. Plus, the blond lad had to remind himself that he had claimed to want to make Amy’s jobs easier whenever possible.

Amaryllis blinked big dark-eyes and her bark-bound face cocked to one side for a moment. “Aren’t you supposed to wait for the flower-girl or the cat-man to walk you through the Briar?”

Twilight Tommy Sighed again. “That’s, uh, not quite what I said.” His baritone voice adopted an unintended whine.

Part of Tommy’s mind translated the Amy-isms. “Flower-girl” had to mean Tegan Bramblerose and “cat-man” could only refer to Raion-ju, Twilight Tommy’s two haven-mates who knew the secrets of a glamour that allowed them to find whatever they wanted within the Thorn Maze. Even the currently safest or shortest path to a location.

The slender lad cleared his throat, “Ah, as keeps happening, uh, more and more often, neither Rai nor Tegan were, uh, around or answering their phones.” He adjusted the extra-large pack on his back, while stepping steadily upwards. “I have, um, no idea how long I would have, uh, had to wait for one of them to, uh, show up. And, uh, I really wanted to be here.”

Amaryllis smiled broadly at the sentiment.

“Um,” Twilight Tommy asked, while watching where he stepped, rather than the cheerful round-face, “so, who all’s here?”

          “Flower g…, um,” Amaryllis hesitated as she recalled the names which her resident’s preferred, rather than the easier descriptors which she tended to favor, “I mean, Tegan, ‘Runner, Wade, Gavin, Rai… and now, you.”

          Twilight Tommy nodded to himself, “So, uh, still no word about Sean Tallwind, um, or any signs of Dark Sol?”

          “Nope.” Amaryllis maintained the perky persona which she wore most often. “Otter-lad… um, ‘Runner told Tegan that Sean’s still in that hospital place that you told me about...”

Tommy had recounted their gang’s adventures with the redcaps and Child’s Rite, over the previous couple of evening’s. Amy had been more enthusiastically engrossed in the descriptions of battle than at any other point, effectively reinforcing her choleric humor to the illuminating sprite.

“No one has mentioned the other one.” Amy continued. “She certainly hasn’t been here in many days… I suppose, she is still with the Jumping Jack, that you talked about”

Twilight Tommy sighed again, although this time in relief. Tommy imagined that if Dark Sol was not with Springheeled Jack, then she was likely to be capitalizing on their gang’s notoriety within the Hawk Wood Court. The darkling lass had a fairly high mooch factor, in a terrifying and eerily attractive kind of way. Sol could also suck vital life-force, out of others, through mouths in her palms, which made her another kind of sponge. Needless to say, Sol’s absence only made it easier for Twilight Tommy to relax.

Entering the main door, Tommy instinctively corrected Amy, as he unshouldered his burden, “Uh, he called himself Springheeled Jack.”

          “What’s that?” Amaryllis asked, either ignoring or oblivious to the elf-lad’s pedantry, instead extending a wood-grained finger from the wall to indicate the large bundle which Tommy was setting against the living room wall..

“Oh, uh,” Twilight Tommy brightened literally, as well as metaphorically, at the dryad’s rarely expressed interest, “it’s a, um, folding bicycle. I, uh, got it for, ah, easier and cheaper travel between our portal and Las Vegas. I can, um, show you how it works later…” Flexing the kinks out of his slim shoulders and back. “Oh, and um, I did something today that I think you’ll like hearing about, later as well.”

          “Okay.” Chipper Amaryllis’s full head and shoulder’s had formed on the room’s inner wall. “You should wash up, the other’s are already getting seated.”

          After using the nearby full-bathroom, Twilight Tommy returned to the living room, then passed through the wide archway which connected to the dining and kitchen area. For eating there was a massive slightly ovoid table seemingly made from a single cross-section of one mighty tree, although wax polished to a rich shine. The Table was fairly mushroom shaped as it rested on a single thick central-pillar. There was easily enough room for nine place settings, yet only eight chairs ringed the table—the empty ninth space was closest to the side of the room used as a kitchen and was where Amaryllis would “stand”, on the rare occasions in which she joined the diner’s conversations.

While there were no assigned seats, Twilight Tommy did have his preferences. Unfortunately, as last to arrive, Tommy could not keep his shoulders from slumping, as he had to settle for a lesser option, of blocky Gavin Granitbane to his right and Amy’s empty space to his left. At least, the beauteous Tegan Bramblerose was seated effectively across from him, for easy gazing.

          Amaryllis brought large wooden bowls, platters, and pitchers over from the kitchen--rich warm stew, crisp green-salad, dark and crusty bread, mead and water. The diners automatically served themselves and passed the family-style platters around.

          Creamy-skinned and freckle-faced Tegan Bramblerose sat taught and flushed with excitement. A condition which, on the bodacious bloomwell, caused an involuntary and slightly uncomfortable excited-tension amongst the men around the imposing dining table… Well, it did for Twilight Tommy. It was difficult to accurately say for certain regarding the other guys, they may have been robots or dead for the amount of emotion that each ever displayed. It was especially incongruous, as a fair amount of Miss Bramblerose’s allure came from her mildly-hypnotic floral faery aura, theoretically magical enough to sway even straight women and gay men.

          Once the food had been served, Auburn-hair Tegan Bramblerose could wait no longer and proudly announced, “I got a job! Commission sales, for condos and time-shares, in Vegas.”

          Twilight Tommy was once more internally conflicted, caught between pleased that one of his associates was also taking a more proactive approach to their new fae-bound life and upset that Tegan had been going to Las Vegas without his knowledge. Intellectually, Twilight Tommy understood that beyond the magic portal was not his turf, even though he had unintentionally started to let himself feel that way. So, the red-orange eyed lad tried to place his pettiness assign and say something supportive, into the otherwise unresponsive silence around the table.

          Preceding with a low whistle of appreciation, Twilight Tommy poured a crisp dryad-brewed mead into his wooden goblet. “You’ll, um, probably be able to cover rent, uh, for a year or two, uh, in less than a week.”

          “Week, schmeek,” Tegan Bramblerose’s berry-bright cupie-lips smiled and she waved a delicate hand airily before raising the index finger proudly, “try day-one. With my gifts of persuasion, I got a lead sales position, to start. I’m at the low end of the commission scale,” Tegan shrugged and her fully buttoned pale-green flannel shirt did its best to be unflattering, “but that won’t last long. Especially, since my company does properties all over the country, not just Vegas. So, there’s lots of room for promotion.”

          The emerald-eyed woman was always attractive, even with her tom-boy inclinations. However, the confidence and pride that Tegan Bramblerose displayed increased her charm exponentially. Twilight Tommy had to shovel squirrel and rabbit stew into his mouth to avoid drooling into his lap.

Iron Wade the Man of Steal pointed a wooden spoon full of stew at Tegan and asked, before eating the thick mouthful, “But, in this economy? That’s got to make it harder.” His rasping voice carrying its usual flat note of pessimism.

“It’s a rrr buyers market.” The otter-beastling Freerunner shook his head, where it was craned over his bowl, his long whiskers twitching as he disagreed in his typical mumble-gargle. “Morerere people arerere buyin’. And irmph banks need hrrm to get people rrurr into the properties urgh that they rrr foreclosed.”

          “I get that.” Chewed the ever haggard Wade, around the meat chunk which he was eating. “But, those people are looking for inexpensive deals, not big ticket luxuries, like vacation condos.”

          “Well,” Tegan Bramblerose said, after swallowing her own mouthful of mixed vegetables and meat, “We are offering deals, compared to a lot of other properties of the same size and quality. Besides, it _is_ my job to convince the people to buy, in spite of their economic hardships.”

          After that the conversation spun out, Much as Twilight Tommy had predicted. Gavin Granitbane asked where Tegan worked, then made a comment similar to Wade’s regarding difficulty. As ‘Runner made another pass at trying to explain his theory to Gavin, Raion-ju seemed to wake from a daydream and ask what was being discussed, and so on. From Miss Bramblerose’s employment the conversational rollercoaster went around the economy, methods of buying property, contracting and construction, and several other ultimately insubstantial topics in which everyone participated, in spite of their varying degrees of relevant experience or knowledge.

          After a time, the talking-for-talk’s-sake moved passed the dinner and into the living room. Wherein someone saw and commented on Twilight Tommy’s parcel. So, the youthful looking lad displayed and explained his new Dahon Speed-D7 folding bicycle. “It’s great. The terrain between our portal and the bus is pretty flat, so I’ll be able to ride there, then jus fold the bike up and carry it with.” He started to refold the contraption. “And, I got this cut-proof lock,” Tommy raised the item for display, “so I can just chain it to a bike-rack, at whatever casino I’m at.”

          Twilight Tommy’s housemates treated his demonstration with the same interest as Tegan’s earlier announcement. So, around the third time that another person asked for the sprite’s explanation, the spritely lad realized that he was bored with the inane chit-chat and went off to his room.

          After changing into his bright-red flannel pajamas, Twilight Tommy tapped the wall with his finger tips and invited Amaryllis to talk. It took a minute or so for the smiling dryad to arrive, during which Tommy rummaged in his backpack and started looking for a good hiding place for the envelopes which he had extracted. All of the few pieces of furniture were affixed to walls and floor, so no tucking something easily behind any of those. The desk was too obvious. Twilight Tommy was just raising his feather stuffed mattress to contemplate the latticework support-structure of thick ropy-vines, when Amaryllis extended from a wall, far enough to be seen with her hands on her sturdy hips, accentuating her expression—which matched her accompanying words perfectly, “What _are_ you doing?”

          “Huh?” Twilight Tommy did not look over as he replaced the mattress and stepped over to and opened his wardrobe, “Uh… Oh, uh, yeah. I, ah, got my official replacement Birth Certificate and, um, Social Security card,” He glanced at Amy just long enough to wave the envelopes and flash an excited smile, “in the mail, uh, at the rental house, today.” He opened a couple of the still mostly empty drawers and closed them again. “Since they are, ah, for my True Name and identity, I wanted to, um, stash them someplace, uh, out of the way.”

          Holding the legal documents made Twilight Tommy feel much more back in control of the life which had been taken from him. Even if the uncertain sprite was still putting off taking any action with the paperwork, while awaiting a plan to deal with Fetch-Tom. To maintain his sense of control, without physical contact, Twilight Tommy felt the need to have the identification papers hidden as best as possible.

Amaryllis stared at the blond boy with squinting eyes and furrowed brow, apparently caught somewhere between confusion, indignation, and pity. Twilight Tommy would eventually come to understand that, since he was in Amy’s Oak, it was part of her pride to not let anyone into his room without his permission. For then, though, overcautious Tommy was oblivious. Also, before Amaryllis could voice her objection, Twilight Tommy had glanced up and realized that he could wedge the two thin envelopes into a crease of the wardrobe, where the inner roof met its front facing wall.

“I don’t think you should have any tea tonight.” Amaryllis observed with measured neutrality, as Tommy gingerly used his rolling desk-chair to achieve enough height to stretch and tuck the papers away.

          “Hmm?” Twilight Tommy said with some effort, as he went about his task. “Oh, yeah, um, that’s fine, I guess.” Envelopes secured he relaxed and stepped carefully off of the chair, dusting himself off, and looking over to the dryad. “Would you, uh, like to play cards or something.”

          “I don’t really know any card games.” Amaryllis admitted, bighting her lip and twisting a long strand of her multi-hued hair, with a double-handed nervous stroking gesture.

          Twilight Tommy shrugged and started rummaging in his backpack for one of the spare deck of cards that he carried. “I can, uh, teach you some. Um, if you, uh, want?”

          Amaryllis beamed and clapped her hands, in enthusiastic agreement, while the two-person pillar-style table sprouted up from the floor, as if it were a mushroom growing in time-lapse photography.

          While setting up, Twilight Tommy commented on what was most prevalent in his slightly jumbled mind. “It was nice, uh, to hear that at least Tegan, ah, has finally figured out how to, um, take some real advantage of, um, her spirit-touched situation and powers.’

“I thought,” glossy-brown eyes looked at Tommy, although Amaryllis was partially distracted by the effort of re-growing the table branch, “all of you have been doing that already?”

“Uh, not really.” Twilight Tommy scratched his tapered chin. “I mean, um, I have. I, ah, use my glamour, um, to enhance gambling success.” He shrugged narrow shoulders. “But, as far as, uh, I can tell, none of the rest of them, uh, even seem interested in bettering their lives. Uh, they certainly aren’t, ah, going after any serious income.” The table was formed and Tommy collected a pen and paper from his desk. “Um, unless something has, uh, changed, Gavin was a trained fireman, um, with some decking and dry-walling skills, uh, in his norman life, but he’s, um, been content to bounce at Elements nightclub. Iron Wade—uh, supposedly, a college level fencing professor—changes oil at a, ah, Jiffy Lube.” He rubbed the back of his neck, as he sat down. “Before he was, uh, hospitalized, Sean chose to spin a sign, uh, advertizing a crappy pizza joint.” Tommy shuffled the cards. “Um, I guess, ah, Freerunner did set himself up as a cabbie, uh, but that’s a far cry from the, um, computer engineering that he, uh, said he was trained in. Uh, meanwhile, I don’t think Rai, or uh, Sol, work anywhere.” He dealt out a couple of hands and se the deck in the center of the table, while speaking. “Even though Iron Wade, um, had supposedly got Rai—a, uh, guy with a full-on engineering degree—a job at, ah, the same oil change store.”

“Well,” Amaryllis resonant voice was smooth and calm, “if you would all just stay here, then you don’t really need that mortal money stuff that you talk so much about, really.”

Twilight Tommy’s jaw tightened at the suggestion. Amaryllis tended to say something to that effect daily, if not more so. Tommy did not want to upset the lovely lass that also seemed to be the structure of his preferred home, by refusing the suggestion outright. On the other hand, living in the Briar could still warp Tom’s mind, as he increasingly suspected it had done to Amy and some of his housemates. So, as usual, the bright-eyed lad deflected the topic.

“Maybe.” Twilight Tommy pursed his pouty lips. “But that seems to run counter to the amount of mortal stuff that most of them whine about wanting.”

Then Tommy proceeded to demonstrate the basics of Gin-Rummy. Amaryllis was quick to grasp the concepts of the game, although seemed to have a hard time actually handling the cards and remembering specific play progression. Even so, both choleric spirit-touched found the friendly competition more entertaining than frustrating.

         Once past the initial learning curve, Twilight Tommy reopened non-play related talking. “Oh, yeah, um, I thought you might like to, uh, hear about the fight I sort of provoked today.”

          Amaryllis looked up from her cards, which she held in both hands, with a look that was optimistically eager and a little impressed.

 

Since my date with Pashmi, I had felt a conflicting combination of emboldendment and embarrassment. After two successful dates with the coppery beauty, I almost believed that I could do anything. Specifically, I continued to need to replenish my wyrd and my emboldened attitude magnified my awareness of threshing being more satisfying. Plus, I simply knew that Pashmi would have thought I was ridiculous. So, I finally overcame my own settling for convenience and followed through with a threshing attempt, hoping to keep the emboldened feeling and loose the embarrassment.

          My shoulders were hunched as I made my way through the exceedingly poorly lit cavernous spaces of the Luxor. All of the casinos have security, as well as touristy people watchers, however in the Luxor I could not quite shake the impression that I was under even more surveillance. Like in the Wilder Woods, how often the darkness itself seemed to be watching. I blame Tegan, of course. Even since the buxom bloomwell told the rest of us of her encounter with a really real vampire, at Caesar’s Palace, I have been expecting one to swoop at me… or whatever they do. And the heavily darkened Luxor seemed like an ideal vampire hunting ground, to my eyes.

          On the other hand, since the Luxor was connected to Mandalay Bay, via the boutique-mall Mandalay Place, I opted to risk the probably vampire territory. I reasoned that if things went badly with my threshing, then I would still be relatively close to the Duchy d’Or, as a bolt-hole, yet not actually causing trouble or poaching directly on the Duchy’s turf.

Heading for the main buffet, I mentally reviewed the plan which I had outlined for myself, before entering the Luxor. So, in many respects the hardest part was shaking off my unease and simply following through. The physical act of literally shaking out my arms, shoulders, and neck helped greatly to loosen the metaphoric tension.

Following my plan, I spent a few minutes to identify a jock-ish dude that seemed a likely candidate to be a steroid user. If I misjudged my thresh and a physical altercation did break-out, then I would be thoroughly outmatched. However, if I was ever to overcome my reticence, I knew I had to go big. Plus, it worked as a solid incentive to not misjudge my play.

I followed my chosen meathead, in his Giant’s football jersey and Yankees ball-cap, around the self-service food stations. Every time New York’s (I assumed from the “subtle” signals that he gave off) favorite son paused in a line, to scoop another mound of food onto his plate, I was behind or next to him. I would bump my guy or reach in his way, all under the guise of me being drunkenly oblivious.

          It only took about ten minutes to get the thick-necked wonder ramped-up. First he slammed his tray down and faced me. Veins bulged on the bro stereotype, in places which I did not think people had veins, and he went real red real fast, then barked “Dude! What the hell's your problem!”

          “Shit Betty,” I was careful to not slur my words, although I did sway a bit, “don’t get your panties in a bunch. You keep banging into me and you don’t see me having a hissy fit.” It was hard not to smile in exaltation.

          “What did you call me?!” Thugo stammered.

          I had laid it on a bit too cerebral, so I tried to simplify, “Is words hard for Jocko?” I placed my index finger to my pouting lower lip and tilted my head to look at the man with upturned eyes.

          The sports fan’s fury fueled desire to destroy me flared incandescent. It had been as if the air were vibrating with potential energy. I could have pulled in some wyrd and called it a win. However, I had written “no half measures” into my plan, so I really wanted a physical contact energy draw.

          Except, I could tell that if I were to push, punch, or even just touch the slab-of-meat, he would start swinging. I only wanted that to happen while I knew that I was watching for the attack. Plus, there were definitely witnesses, as well as inevitable security monitors, and I did not want any speculation as to who made the first physically aggressive move—in case I got caught and charges were pressed.

          “Ut’s da mattew? Iz oo cranky an’ needs a ba-ba?” I mimed fisting tears out of my eyes, as I laid on the baby talk.

          And that had finally been enough for the muscly thug-thug to try and punch me. Since the swing had been all that I was watching for, I saw it coming. Although, it was immediately clear, from my opponent’s stance and swing, that he knew WAY more about fisticuffs than me. The only reasons that I did not take the hit were that I saw it coming (barely) and my faery fortune. As I started to adjust out of my wobbly-drunken persona, my neck bent—not quite as I had intended—and my foe’s fist caused a breeze to caress my cheek, where it would have slammed had I righted myself any sooner.

          Again, since I had planned for the punch, I retained the wherewithal to follow through with my own execution. I leaned in under the big guy’s swing, made a kissy face, said “You’re sweet.”, patted his cheek gently, and then high tailed it for the exit. I made it out of the Luxor, just ahead of three security goons. As a bonus, while making my strategic withdrawal, I noted from the corner of my eye that my now dumb-fuddled mark had been detained.

          I stopped running as soon as I could no longer see the doors, through the crowd, however I kept moving with purpose. From the point where Jocko slammed his tray down, to my escape, had probably only amounted to twenty or thirty seconds. I had expected a diligent response, just not that fast, nor as many as the half-dozen security guards which I had seen. I could not seem to wipe the canary-eating grin from my face, although I was able to fumble out my pocket notebook and record a reminder to “Never make disturbances in casinos”.

In almost every way my experiment had been a resounding success, more fruitful and faster than any winnowing I had ever done. On the other hand, I did have to go and sit in the Pleasure Gardens of d’Or, in the darkest quietest, least stimulating cove that I could find. Even so, it took quite a while, before I could stop vibrating and grinning like a maniac. I did not trust myself to do anything else, considering how intoxicated I felt after that rush. I have never done cocaine, however my wyrd-high was close to the way I had seen the effects portrayed in movies. Including the immediate craving to thresh more and never let the rush subside. Luckily my need for self control far outweighed my impulse for immediate gratification. Although, too much of that kind of wyrd intake might eventually change my mind.

 

Not much else was discussed beyond card games, by the dryad and the sprite, that evening. Twilight Tommy spent most of the following days in Las Vegas, returning to the oak-haven even more elated than after having successfully threshed and treating himself to a major purchase. However, much like that earlier evening, that Thursday afternoon forced Tommy to delay sharing his experiences with Amaryllis, in lieu off interacting with his housemates.

          Sean Tallwind had returned to the haven shortly after Tommy had made it home. It constituted another of those rare noteworthy moments from one of the other residents, albeit more for the novelty of Sean having been gone for a week, rather than any news conveyed.

         By the time that Sean Tallwind had escaped from his Keeper, he looked seriously old, with saggy, wrinkly greyish-yellowed skin and long healed-over burn scars marring the majority of his left side. Additionally, Sean’s fingers had become almost cartoonishly distorted, although rather than puffy and white like many animated characters, his were thin and long—almost impossibly so. To make physical matters worse for Mr. Tallwind, he had been severely wounded by the so-called lesser Bright One, Doctor Barber, while attempting to aid in the completion of the Child’s Rite for the local spirit-touched court.

That malicious member of the Folk had slit Sean Tallwind’s saggy throat with a special straight razor. The magical healing, available at the time, was only enough to keep the bedraggled fellow alive long enough to get him to O'Bleness Memorial Hospital in the mundane world. Luckily, mortal medicines still worked on most spirit-touched. Once in the emergency room, Sean Tallwind had gruffly and tenaciously insisted that he be left alone and checked himself into emergency care—supposedly to avoid drawing the attention of mortal authorities to the rest of the group with which he had been associating. Although, in all honesty, Tallwind did everything gruffly, glumly, or disparagingly, to the point that the crotchety fellow spoke as if he had learned English from pulp detective novels and 1940’s gangster films.

The large black linebacker-y Raion-ju had silently entered the haven’s front entrance, followed by Sean Tallwind. Perpetually pessimistic Mr. Tallwind looked much the same as before, albeit a slightly paler shade of yellow and sporting a white-gauze bandage, like a Dickie, under his stained white dress-shirt. When the bandage came off, over a week later, Sean would sport a new paper-thin and angry-pink scar, which would be mostly obscured by the folds of his saggy neck.

The only explanation, of Rai and Tallwind’s entrance, which anyone received had been Sean long-thumb pointing to Rai and a raspy, “I waited at the bookstore, ‘til I spotted ‘im.”

Most of the household was in the tree-haven, so they all gathered in the cathedral-ceilinged living room to hear more of Sean’s hospital story. In Twilight Tommy’s case, he hoped (in vane) to learn more of how modern mundane medicine interacted with spirit-touched physiology.

          “I told ‘em,” Sean whisper-growled, as the group toasted his recovery and liberation from the hospital, “that I’d been walking down an alley and a big guy jumped me. I said he had a knife, but I couldn’t see any details in the dark… I figured keep it simple and obscure.” His face wrinkles rearranged to make the man appear as if he had smelled something rank.

“The doctors and nurses didn’t seem to believe that I couldn’t remember any more than that, though.” Dull-brown eyes rolled upwards. “I swear, tell someone it was pitch dark and you were surprised and they can’t believe you didn’t get eye-color or be able to identify the attacker’s cologne.” He shook his head—very carefully—In disgust, jowls swaying in counterpoint. “Too much freakin’ CSI watchin’.”

Sean sipped and swallowed (also carefully) Amy’s berry wine from a ceramic goblet, held in his spindly fingers. “Anyway, the sawbones that did my stitches, kept tryin’ to get me to admit my attacker had been a med student. He figured only a medic could have access to a blade sharp enough and a hand steady enough to make this cut so fine.” A stick-like digit pointed to his gauze covered throat. “Pheh, stupid kid. That also assumed I stood still long enough to let him do it… No, I stuck to my story.” Another delicate sip.

          “The real hard part was not having insurance. Because, I was technically not in critical condition. Thanks to the glamour treatments, I had got beforehand. After twenty-four hours they turned me out.” He held up his free hand, like a row of pencils, to forestall Tegan Bramblerose and Gavin Granitbane’s protestations—both having had made sure Sean received the magical care at the time. “Sure, I might not’ve made it to the hospital without the magical vitality boost, but if Tegan and that salty Court doctor hadn’t used glamours on me _and_ I _had_ made it to O’Bleness, then I’d probably still be classified as critical enough for continued care…” He shrugged. “‘Course those student docs would’ve probably finished me off by accident. So, I guess I prefer the way it all turned out.”

Twilight Tommy was partially stunned. Sean Tallwind’s last comment had been dangerously close to a “thank you” for Tegan, or darn near a positive sentiment, at the very least. After some consideration, the luminous lad decided that the grouchy gnarling must have still been under the influences of some pain-killer or other.

Sean sipped and kept whisper-grumping. “As it was, I had to keep re-entering via the emergency care protocols. The staff was decent enough about it, they could tell the wound could reopen at any provocation. But the administrators were pricks. I’m still sore.” He gently glided two of his pointy finger tips along his bandaged newest scar. “Actually, there was just one pencil pusher who had cottoned to my rotation. In the end, I just did not feel desperate enough to fight him on one more re-admittance.”

          Nothing else more interesting was forthcoming. Plus, around then Freerunner showed up and the merry-go-round of conversation started its repetitive pattern. Since Twilight Tommy determined that he had neither anything to add, nor any worry of his name being misapplied to any quotes or ideas, he went off to write in his solarium.

          After an hour or so, Twilight Tommy remembered that he had wanted to talk with Amy in private and invited her to join him for a game of checkers.

          The table and game-board was grown into place. Twilight Tommy made sure to open with talk of the weather, as both spirit-touched settled into the rhythm of play. Amaryllis was always most enthusiastic when discussing wind patterns, rainfall, soil temperatures, and the like. The dryad’s impassioned commentary was at least entertaining enough to make it easy for Tommy to feign polite interest.

          In due course, Twilight Tommy ventured to broach the subject of his true interest, “May we, um, bring people here?” He absently tugged the lobe of one elongated ear. ”Uh, I mean, what sort of problems might come up if we do?”

“Well,” Amaryllis moved one of her dark brown wooden pieces and shrugged shapely dark-brown shoulders, “it is more difficult to keep this location hard to find, when people are shown a path to it.”

“So, um, if I invited someone in,” Twilight Tommy cautiously attempted to clarify, “like, um, a librarian from Ariadne’s,” he tried to imagine that he was suggesting a game night that would involve Alistair the head archivist, while he knew that he was actually thinking about Pashmi and, to a lesser extent the Freehold employees Philomena and Rosa, “would that, um, give them free access to come and go?”

“Hmm,” Amaryllis sat back a little further into the wall and was herself cautious in reply, “you can always lock the gate.” She tilted her head quizzically. Long-wild autumn-colored hair cascading over the left slope of her matching bandeau. “But, I assume, you would know this person well and trust them as much or more.”

Twilight Tommy moved his pale wooden piece, “Uh, yes, of course.”

However, the forest beauty had caused Tommy to consider. By that time, Twilight Tommy trusted Amy, certainly more so than he had reason to trust the tempting Pashmi… More so than he trusted the other haven-mates, for that matter.

“But, it’s, um, more of a possible, hypothetical, uh, future concern, really. There’s no, uh, specific person…” Twilight Tommy dismissive hand wave was a bit more theatrical than nonchalant.

“Oh _sure_ ,” Amaryllis rolled her gleaming-brown eyes in sarcastic amusement and moved a dark circle. “You don’t want a cookie, you just want to know if there might be cookies.”

Twilight Tommy tried levity in an effort to move more swiftly away from the topic, as it grew rapidly more awkward, “Ah, are there cookies?” He moved a pale disc.

“You go to the kitchen, if you want a snack.” The dryad’s playful smile had gone flat, as she captured one of Tommy’s light-colored men.

Unsure whether Amy was still speaking metaphorically and worried that either way might lead to being stuck in a pod dangling outside, Twilight Tommy moved on. “Um, are there any, uh, types of people that you don’t want us, uh, bringing here? Or any, um, specific people you don’t like, or want around?”

          “Well, I am not as fond of manticores as I once was.” Amaryllis answered pointedly.

          Tommy chuckled and nodded understanding. Then the two completed their game, which the strong shoulder woodland lass won. Amaryllis barked a triumphant “Ha-hah!” and playfully stuck out her surprisingly normal-looking pink tongue. Then it was time for dinner and the pair both went back to the common rooms.

          It was the following evening, when the only other interesting thing to come out of any of Twilight Tommy’s comrades was brought up. Once more, several of the residents gathered within the haven’s living room, for drinks and conversation, after dinner. Thick icy autumnal-rain sluiced through the exterior branches and sheeted down the windows. Yet, without accompanying thunder or lightning, the weather passed largely unnoticed from within the cozy tree-house.

Amaryllis brought cards and a few board games, up from the trunk situated recreation-room. Even though, other than Tommy and sometimes Tegan, the haven-mates never really displayed enough focus to get them through a whole game of any kind. Plus, each of the others refused to play cards with Twilight Tommy, even when he promised to not use glamour to manipulate the outcome. Either the sprite was that far superior (as he chose to believe), or the other players simply could not stand the choleric lad’s peaks of pique.

Anachronistically, on this occasion, geologic Gavin Granitbane sat in one of the living room’s solid wooden chairs, rather than standing and slowly flexing his boulder-y muscles in sequence. The former fireman’s rough-hewn orange countenance was turned down, into a gloomy sulk, punctuated with occasional deep sighs.

          It was empathetic Tegan Bramblerose who first asked after the large rocky man’s wellbeing. Wherein followed a long stop-start conversation, in which Gavin attempted to avoid depressing the group, yet kept making nostalgic comments about Christmas and half-started references to his family. The gist of which, as far as Twilight Tommy could suss out, was that early December had got to the lumpy brick-colored fellow, on a homesick level. The ex-fireman’s calendar-model talked fondly and often regarding his sisters and their children. With Fetch-Hank (Gavin’s shadow-eater replacement) dead, he had been hard pressed to find a way to re-enter the mundane world and re-establish those familial ties.

          Once Twilight Tommy had finally gathered that much of Mr. Granitbane’s disconnected commentary, the elfin lad suggested, “Well, uh, this might seem a bit soap-opera-y, but I do have an idea that you could try.” After encouragement from his earthen companion Tommy continued. “Uh, okay, so just keep in mind this idea is kind of iffy, but it’s the best that _I_ can think of.”

          “ _All right_?” Rough-cut Gavin Granitbane drew out the words speculatively, as if no longer confident that he wanted to hear what the skinny lad had to say, but resigned to do so anyway.

“You claim that you, uh, had a stalker.” Twilight Tommy leaned forward in his chair, hands on knees, “The guy was so, ah, nuts that he had plastic surgery to look like you. When you went into the Kendal clinical trial, uh, your stalker made his move, um, he posed as a nurse and slipped you a bunch of drugs. Then he snuck you out to a house somewhere, uh, to keep you.”

Twilight Tommy had spoken a little faster than usual to get the whole fiction out at once. Even so, he shifted a little uncomfortably, in his seat, under the distinctly uneasy gazes of most of his house-mates. Tommy figured the best way to sell a lie was to seed it with as much truth as possible, which meant everyone in the room (save Amaryllis) was unexpectedly reminded about how they were actually spirited away from the Kendal facility by Anwynn, Lord of Death, of the Folk. So, the others in the room looked at Tommy skeptically, yet let him continue.

          “The thing is, ah, the drugs that this crazy stalker guy gave you were just meant to keep you docile, um, while he went back to Kendal and took your place. But the drugs, uh, that he gave you reacted weird with the drugs that Kendal had been testing on you. The combo, uh, gave you amnesia.” Slender tan hands gestured emphatically, indicating Gavin’s fictitious self, the made up stalker, and various locations. “So, uh, the stalker tries to take over your life, um, as a popular firefighter and gets himself killed. Meanwhile, you have amnesia, ah, and no ID, um, maybe you’re not even in Ohio anymore.”

          Twilight Tommy tapped his left palm with the fingers of his right hand, for more emphasis and to keep the attention of his distractible fellows. “Then, seven years later, uh, your memory returns and you come back to Athens to find out what happened.” He spread his hands in a ta-da gesture and sat back, picking up his wine glass, from the end-table.

          Various combinations of wide eyes, rolled eyes, and shaking heads, made the group, as a whole, look as if they all thought Tommy was a little crazy himself.

“Yeah, well…” Gavin Granitbane scratched a squarish ear, clearly trying to be polite, “I’ll think about that.”

          “Look, like, I know it sounds nuts.” Twilight Tommy embroilment reddening amber-eyes scanned his sniggering housemates. “I said it was farfetched, uh, from the start. I’m just the, like, only one here who’s offered any solution, though.”

Gavin Granitbane had consistently made himself available to assist any of the group members with even the dullest tasks. For that reason alone, Twilight Tommy remained opened to providing further opinions on the subject of Gavin’s return to his mundane life. Although, Tommy did resolve to put no further effort into the planning, beyond immediate responses for specifically requested input.

Not that Twilight Tommy’s stance mattered much, as the conversation had lurched away from the topic that day. Although, in a prime example of his colleagues glacial-speed thought processes, Gavin Granitbane did re-open the subject, almost a week later.

Gavin had been going to work at Elements, in Athens, and every day a few more Christmas decorations would appear on his path to and from the bar. Even on a couple of excursions into Vegas the holiday décor was prevalent. Even though, the seasonal memories of family and giving pinched hard at the emotions of each of the newly liberated spirit-touched, they seemed to strike stony Mr. Granitbane the hardest. So, marble-eyed Gavin moped through the week and it was not much of a surprise when he inevitably pitched another idea for explaining away his shadow-eater’s death.

          That time, seven members of the tree-household were present. Sol was still unheard from and Freerunner continued to spend most of his time taxi driving. Although, as usual, Raion-ju was physically there more than mentally attentive.

Once more within the oak’s living area, again having just finished another tasty dryad-produced dinner. Gavin Granitbane stood in his favored spot, near the spiral stairs and able to see the front door, while he slowly flexed and stretched. Gavin looked at Twilight Tommy, who sat back with his arm crossed in quiet contemplation, “Hey, Tommy, I’ve been thinking about how I might get my life back and wanted to hear what you thought about this idea.”

          Twilight Tommy’s first thought was that Gavin was about to regurgitate Tommy’s own original suggestion, from a week earlier, as if it had been the earth-elemental’s. Then the luminous sprite realized that he really did not care enough, after having been snubbed before. So, Tommy chose to treat the situation as if the previous one had not happened and just respond naturally to whatever his ally had to say. The slender elf shifted in his seat, to give the larger rocky-chap his attention, “Sure, shoot.”

          “What if I had a long lost twin? Like we were separated at birth.” Gavin Granitbane’s deep voice could boom, however he kept it at conversational levels. ”Twins run in our family, so that’s not too far fetched.” His squarish orange brick-hands moved through the air, punctuating his sentences. “And Kendal tracked us both down, to apply some nature versus nurture to their drug-study. Then something goes wrong and I wind up in a coma. My _brother_ ,” he air-quoted the word, “is also effected by the drugs, but they cause him to try and take my place.” He concluded, his blue marble-eyes wide with boyish enthusiasm.

“Ah, um, I’m not sure...” Twilight Tommy rubbed his pointed chin with one knuckle, while contemplating his reply. Privately pleased that the idea was not his version of a soap-opera trope, Tommy could not put a positive face on the far more ludicrous proposal. “The whole point of getting your life back, um, is to reconnect with your sisters, right?” Gavin’s sharp-edged head nodded and Tommy continued. “So, uh, when you tell them this story, ah, won’t they want to know why your mom never mentioned the other son?”

“Or,” fair-faced Tegan Bramblerose had sat forward, from her side of the leather sofa, to add, “why Kendal went along with the brother taking your place?”

“Heck,” Sean Tallwind waved his burn gnarled and spindly hand around, as if disbursing smoke, “why _and_ where did Kendal keep your comatose body? And why wasn’t it mentioned in the legal proceedings that had been sparked by the fiery death of your supposed twin? And what about the twin’s friends and family from the previous forty-plus years, where are they and why aren’t they more concerned?”

All, save for Gavin, nodded thoughtful agreement and consideration. Twilight Tommy, in particular, kept his expression neutral, while his mood-shifting eyes faded to a delighted yellowy hue. Internally, Tommy counting the greater number of holes in Gavin’s proposal compared to his own from a week earlier.

The clay and stone fellow was a little crestfallen, “Well, I thought those questions could be handled by a helpful and persuasive friend, or two.” His polished blue-stone peepers looked between Twilight Tommy and Miss Bramblerose, although mostly to the shapely bloomwell. “I figured, I wouldn’t need to open any old cases, or anything. Once my sisters were convinced of the story, there wouldn’t be any need.” Sandstone eyebrows raised hopefully.

          Tegan Bramblerose’s emerald eyes met Twilight Tommy’s pale-orange amber orbs as the pair traded glances, each implying, “those are _BIG_ holes to fill with words alone, even if they are magically enhanced words” and “I don’t really know how long my glamoured persuasion lasts”.

Iron Wade the Man of Steal spoke up, saving the two elfin contemplators, by shifting the topic slightly. “I think you’d be better off with a story that had a built in block on any paper trails.” Marred-hands steepled to his leathery-chin, elbows on his chair’s arms, as his dry voice presented. “What if you were gone for the last seven years because you were being sequestered in witness relocation. Say you had critical information about a criminal that used arson to hide his drug trafficking. Now either the trial was settled out of court, or the suspect is dead, or the guy cut a deal and is himself now in witness relocation. Then if anyone wants to check your story, they would have to petition the FBI or US Marshals. Who would in turn deny any knowledge outright, even if the story were true.”

Twilight Tommy was again pleased to hear another stupid idea, although admitted to himself that Wade‘s suggestion was not that much more absurd than his own. Even so, Tommy could not help but to think about how Gavin and Iron Wade were over complicating the whole thing, especially with the paper-trail angle. Twilight Tommy’s crazy cremated-stalker would have dismissed such questions outright; who was the guy really combined with no way to do a DNA test on ashes, where did he come from? Where are his friends and family? Again there would have been no way to trace any of that crap, if the questions were even asked. On the other hand, contemplative Tommy was simply pleased that his cohorts were showing signs of thought, no matter how poorly.

“I, uh, like the witness protection angle a lot.” Twilight Tommy, opted to encourage the foolish plan which did not potentially involve him having to attempt a magical memory wipe. “But, ah, what about the guy that looked like Gavin? The one who, uh, died on the job.” It was still fun to poke holes in the idea, though, in reciprocation for his own proposal having been denounced. “Was he, um, a government agent, uh, sent in to try and catch anyone that wanted to silence Gavin?”

Sean Tallwind shook his head, with an even more bitter than usual look on his sagging and wobbly face. “Then why’d the fire department go along with it? ‘Specially all the way to the funeral and beyond.”

Twilight Tommy shrugged one shoulder, “Like Gavin said, uh, he just needs a story that his family will swallow, uh, without a lot of follow up. The locked records and, ah, government sting angle would be harder to disprove and easier to sell.” He looked to Tegan for confirmation.

The creamy-skinned lady bobbed her head from side to side, causing auburn hair to sway like a silky pendulum, and crinkled her button nose conveying that she was not very confident of Tommy’s assertion.

Gavin Granitbane rubbed his eyes with some weariness and a soft crunching-gravel sound. “Looks like I’ll have to think on this some more. I was hoping to at least drive by their homes and see how they were doing… I just wanted a story ready, if they saw me.”

Raion-ju actually spoke, from his favored plush chair in the corner. Twilight Tommy almost jumped, having grown used to ignoring the large man as if he were another piece of furniture. The cat-eyed lad said, “Be prepared for a shock. It did not work out well for me, when I checked on my family.”

Iron Wade the Man of Steal was the first to recover from the amazement that the room had felt, when Rai engaged in the conversation—offering personal information, to boot. The grey-eyed fencer asked, “What do you mean? What happened to your family?”

Raion-ju’s broad features became bitter and sad, as he recalled, took a deep steadying breath, then spoke with quiet venom, “That scumbag shadow-eater, that took my place. He’s messing with gangs and drugs. And my little brother and sister are looking up to the asshole.” His deep bellows of a voice rolled around the room, like the thunder that the storm outside lacked.

There was very little to say after that. With prompting, Raion-ju did make it clear that he fully intended to do something quite harsh to his doppelganger, as soon as he could. Gavin continued to be indecisive. Everyone present was pretty depressed, though.

Twilight Tommy was certain that his associates had given less thought to their shadow-eater replacements than he had his. Even though, this conversation had proved that Raion-ju was taking the fetch threat seriously, the rest of the group seemed to just be remembering how bad the Keeper made duplicates really were. Not that the emotional blow prompted any of the group to take more direct actions against their replacements, during that or any consecutive weeks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	4. Chapter 4

IV

Meanwhile, during that same week, while Gavin Granitbane and the rest had for the most part barely put more than two thoughts together—let alone acted upon any such musings—Twilight Tommy had flitted about between several interests and lines of personal elevation. By that earlier weekend, when Sean Tallwind had returned and Tommy crazed-stalker suggestion had been laughed off, the spritely lad had ticked off several items from his personal goals and amended others. For example Twilight Tommy had reassessed his impressive poker winnings and resolved that he could afford to loosen his purse-strings for certain things.

          First had been the Dahon Speed-D7, although more pleasurably had been room service at a complementary hotel suite. Then Twilight Tommy bought a brand new iPhone6S, including pre-payment for the first year of service, from a vending machine in Mandalay Bay. The normally frugal lad also bought nice clothes and jewelry in Las Vegas, as well as a Coach messenger-bag.

As Twilight Tommy would return to the oak-haven with each new product, he would unpack and display the item for Amaryllis’s perusal. For the most part, the unassuming dryad merely smiled and nodded, as an indulgent aunt might to a toddler showing off his birthday presents.

“It is a nice color.” Amaryllis observed on one occasion, as Tommy hung his new goldenrod-yellow silk shirt in his wardrobe. “But, isn’t the fabric too thin? The winter is coming after all. And you keep bringing these flimsy garments back from _that place_.” The last two words were spoken with barely contained contempt.

          Twilight Tommy shrugged narrow shoulders, as he straightened the hang of his new shirt. “I, uh, know how to cast Summer’s Embrace, ah, to keep me comfortable, uh, regardless of temperature.” Satisfied with the clothing storage, he turned to address Amy directly. “Um, besides, I spend a lot of time in Vegas, uh, so desert friendly attire is less conspicuous. Plus, uh, whenever I buy something, um, at one of the Mlife affiliated shops, I get like twenty-five times the points, uh, towards my membership. And the more, uh, points I get, the better comps come my way.” He smiled proudly. “It’s only been a couple of weeks and I’m already a gold tier member.”

          “Gold is Summerfire’s metal, so that is good.” Amaryllis could only smile blankly at the slender lads enthusiasm over something she could barely imagine caring about.

          After several days of returning home with some such new purchase or other to show off, it occurred to Twilight Tommy that Amy’s detached reactions may be one of polite jealousy. Since, the pointy eared blond wanted to avoid building low level animosity with the tree-spirit, he added “Get gifts for Amy” to his goals. However even that process became more of a learning curve than expected.

          On one of Twilight Tommy’s rarer and rarer trips into Athens Ohio, he followed an impulse to stop in at a Kroger grocery store and pick up Amy’s first gift. Clever Tommy did so, in part, because he knew that on that particular return journey surefooted Tegan Bramblerose would be guiding him safely back to their haven. Thus, the sun-kissed lad was able to confidently present Amaryllis with a carton of Grade AA eggs.

          However, upon presenting Amaryllis with the bright-yellow polystyrene container, she looked horrified and embittered—as if she had just accidentally drank urine, expecting it to be lemon-aid. The tree-spirit “stood”, ankles fused into the kitchen floor, and pointed at the offering in Tommy’s outstretched hand. “What are you trying to do to me?!”

          “Uh…” Twilight Tommy blinked amber-eyes, almost white with shocked trepidation. “it’s, uh, eggs… um, you know, eggs…” He waggled the carton slightly. “Like, um for cooking with, and stuff.”

          “What sort of hideous creature in that terrible other place, lays an egg like that.” Another elegant accusatory finger jabbed in the direction of the egg carton, although Amaryllis made certain to remain out of arms reach.

          More blinking, then some understanding dawned on Twilight Tommy, “ _Ohh_ … no, um this isn’t _an_ egg, it’s um, a container of eggs.” He opened the flap lid and displayed the dozen ovoids. “I know that you told me it took you almost a week to gather like twenty or thirty wild-bird eggs, to make me one omelet. So, I, uh, figured you’d like to be able to just use these instead. Just two or three, um, of these’ll make a decent omelet.”

          Amaryllis’s eyes widened and she leaned forward, in spite of continued revulsion at the carton. “What laid those? Some kind of big lizard?”

          “Um…” Twilight Tommy’s mind tried to run in several directions at once, as it often did when talking with Amy. The puzzle solving part of Tommy was split between trying to work out what the sturdy Amazonian lass disliked about the container, as well as why she did not recognize chicken eggs. Another part of Tommy’s mind wondered how long he would have to stand there holding the gift and what would he do with the eggs, if Amy refused to accept them. Plus, a significant portion of the lad’s facilities were distracted with the fact that the voluptuous dryad was leaning towards him, causing her luxuriant mane of hair to drape to one side and her weighty cleavage to strain her leafy bandeau. Thus, Tommy also had to contend with suppressing certain fantasies, as well as sorting out appropriate behavior. “Um… chickens. Not, uh, lizards, chickens…”

          Amaryllis just cocked her head to one side and looked quizzically at Tommy.

          The lad’s amber-eyes were slightly whitish with confusion as he tried again. “Um, chickens are a type of bird… People raise them on farms. Like cows or pigs… but smaller.” Tommy attempted to indicate the size that he thought a chicken was, while not upsetting the open egg carton.

          Amaryllis straightened up and crossed her arms over her chest, “You’re teasing me. Turkeys barely get that big and are too dumb to pen. So, these so-called chickens must be something else.”

         The discussion when on for quite a while. The only saving grace, as far as Twilight Tommy was concerned, was that none of the other haven residents came in and started the whole thing over again. Eventually two things became clear. Firstly, Amaryllis considered the Styrofoam to be dangerous and toxic. So, Tommy was allowed to place the loose eggs in a wooden bowl within the communal “ice chest”. In truth, the “ice box” was mostly just a ceramic and wood cooler, which Amy kept chilled magically.

Contemplating the cooler brought Twilight Tommy to his second revelation. Amaryllis had no context for certain modern mundane things, like proper refrigerators and, as it turned out chickens. Once back in the mortal world, studious Tommy would look up the history of chickens, to discover that they were not native to North America. More over chickens as Twilight Tommy knew them had not been around for more than maybe two-hundred years or less. Which made the light-emitting lad wonder, yet again, whether Amaryllis had ever been a normal girl and if so could she really have been stuck in the Briar for over two centuries? More so, what could be done to make the determination? and then what?

          As far as the eggs themselves went though, Twilight Tommy simply had to make certain that the polyurethane packaging never actually touched any part of anything native to the oak tree. So, after transferring the eggs, the tan fellow crushed the plastic-y yellow container into a Zip-Lock back, stuffed it into his pack, and threw it away the next time he passed a trash can in the mundane world. And Amy made omelets for the next meal.

          “I think these taste pretty flavorless.” Upbeat Amaryllis said without any malice, as she served Tommy and the couple of their housemates that sat at the big table. “But, they are certainly easier to cook with and go farther per meal. Once you get through that extra-hard shell, of course.”

          Twilight Tommy thanked the tree-spirit, as he added salt and pepper to his dish. The observant sprite chose not to point out that Amy might find all of her cooking more flavorful is she would ad more seasoning during the process. Tommy liked Amy’s low seasoning far more than the idea of cooking for himself, though. So, Twilight Tommy chose to file away the dryad’s comment as positive and opted not to rock the boat with unrequested criticism.

          Even so, Twilight Tommy also had an idea for potentially expanding Amy’s culinary expertise. However, in light of the negative reaction to Styrofoam and a couple of other concerns, notating Tommy had to make up another chain of goals. It never really occurred to the self-consciously socially awkward sprite to handle the situation in any other manner.

          Once his journal was updated that evening, Twilight Tommy addressed the first step of that new goal sequence. After calling Amaryllis to his room, Tommy got right to it, “Hey, um, I didn’t really, uh, have much to talk about tonight, but um,” he reached over to the upper shelf of his roll-top desk and grabbed the one book he currently owned, “I was, uh, just wondering… can you read this?”

          The mundane book “Encyclopedia of Superstitions, Folklore, and the Occult Sciences of the World: A comprehensive library of human belief and practice in the mysteries of life through more than six thousand years of experience and progress including the fundamental intuitions and instincts underlying the structure of civilization, theology, mythology, demonology, magic, witchcraft, esoteric philosophy, signs, omens, oracles, sorceries, auguries, divinations, prophecies, methods and means employed in revealing fortune and fate, systems and formulas for the use of psychical forces, hypnotism, clairvoyance, telepathy, spiritualism, character reading and character building with all the known powers and wonders of mind and soul, illustrated with numerous ancient and modern designs and thoroughly indexed” had been given to Twilight Tommy, by Tegan Bramblerose, as a sort of joke, before either had come to any terms with their new partially-fae lives. Tommy had no idea if any of the lore within the old paperback was anywhere near accurate, although that had not prevented him from enacting some of the salt-based rituals within. The academic lad opened the book randomly and handed it to Amy.

          Amaryllis accepted the paperback and held it firmly in both hands. The confident lass had to adjust the distances for a few moments, before settling on full arm extension and squinting. “A ring… made.. of a.. see-a.. um, sea-horse's… teeth,… will… pre… pre-vent cramps.” Her narrowed eyes bore into the page, as she carefully yet clumsily sounded out each word. “A law-yer… with a caul...”

“Um, cool, thanks.” Twilight Tommy gently retrieved the book. “That, uh, helped me clarify something that I, uh, was trying to think about.” He replaced the book on his desk, as he asked. “Was there anything that _you_ , um, wanted to talk about?”

          “You are very silly, Tommy.” Amaryllis tousled the elf’s thick blond curls and receded into the wall.

Tommy blushed at the physical contact, even though he believed it had only been a friendly gesture. Then, before turning in for the night, Twilight Tommy made some more notes in his goal list. Specifically the spritely “detective” reminded himself that Amy seemed to read at the second or third grade level, so gift books should be easy readers. A need to bring back a selection of reading glasses for the far sighted dryad, was also noted.

          A couple of days later Twilight Tommy progressed his experiment/plan a little further. Once more in the treetop bedroom, late at night, the two spirit-touched played dominos. After weather talk, interspersed with the dryad’s perspective on certain woodland creatures and other non-oak types of trees (most of both categories were foolish or full of themselves, with squirrels being especially nasty bastards), Tommy discussed a neutral part of his recent days—while girding himself for a potentially upsetting additional topic.

 

When Sean Tallwind returned I asked him whether he had seen, or heard anything about, young Joey Owens—the “sacrifice” for the Child’s Rite with which our gang had assisted. The self proclaimed private investigator had no news, even though he and the boy had both been admitted to O’Bleness at the same time. If I must excuse the wrinkle-covered grouch, he had been dealing with his throat injury at the start. On the other hand, once stabilized, it proved to be yet another opportunity for sleuthing on which the long-fingered gnarling had failed to act.

          At least, curvaceous Tegan Bramblerose had enough compassion to share my concern for Joey. Although, in truth, a portion of my concern was because the boy was the linchpin to the spell which protected all of the other children of the Midwestern Territories for the next year and if ill befell him then the magic may unravel. Plus, even though I had grudgingly accepted the necessity of the Child’s Rite, it still irritated me that the courtiers of Hawk Wood displayed so little empathy for poor Joey. The boy had been taken and used by the Court in much the same manner that a Keeper might and just because young master Owens had not been turned into a spirit-touched, seemed like weak reason to not make certain that he was safe after the event. Regardless of our motivations, though, Tegan and I have spent several days combing through news papers and any public police reports which we could access, trying to verify Joey Owens’s fate.

          My emerald-eyed ally also claimed to have talked with a cop that she had met while questioning staff at O’Bleness Memorial. Personally, I thought that level of direct interrogation was too risky, like something a kidnapper might do if their victim had escaped. However, Tegan seemed to feel that her Fairest Tongue glamour and mood altering fae pheromones were enough to keep normans off their guard. Seductive Miss Bramblerose even told me that she had gone on a couple of coffee-dates with her cop contact. Meanwhile, I was using my iPhone6S to search the internet for public records and stopping by the library to see if the physical newspapers had any different data.

The combined efforts of the two of us bore little fruit, though. All that Tegan and I could verify, amounted to that Joey had been at O'Bleness for two days and was then released to his mother’s care and the police were still actively seeking Joey’s assailant.

 

Twilight Tommy finished his commentary with an “oh well” shrug.

“It’s strange,” Amaryllis offered, absently twirling a long crimson and gold lock around one finger, while _clicking_ a three-five wooden tile into place next to a two-three with her other hand, “how you seem to care about this child. You’ve made no pact with him and he is back with… his appropriate caretaker.”

Twilight Tommy nodded thoughtfully, one arm across his chest and a knuckle to his slender chin, while seeming to study the tile layout. “Is it strange?... Um, I guess, I just, uh, feel like after trying so hard to retrieve the kid and protect him from Doctor Barber…” He checked a couple of his face down tiles, as he spoke. “I, uh, I don’t know. I guess I feel a little proprietary.” His attempt to make a similarly loud _clicking_ noise was unsuccessful as he played a one-four tile on a different branch of the domino spread..

          Amaryllis immediately _snapped_ down a four-six tile nest to the move Tommy had just made. The dryad’s speed caused Twilight Tommy to realize that he was getting too distracted, so he plunged ahead with his real goal for the evening. The illuminated lad got up and collected his backpack, reseating himself with the bag on his lap. Tommy also hoped that this may work as a ploy to distract Amy from the game, enough for him to catch up, point wise.

          “I, um, brought you another gift.” Twilight Tommy explained as he rummaged in the pack. “Uh, I wasn’t sure which would be best for you. Uh, so I got some of each strength so you could pick the one that is sharpest.” He started to place metal tubes of various colors, on the side f the table.

          Amaryllis was curious about the reading-glasses within, what she referred to as, the “nasty metalish cases”. After trying on each pair of varying magnification levels and reading again from Tommy’s book, the dryad admitted that the x1.25 lenses provided the greatest clarity. “Although,” she added with matter of fact indifference, “these metallic bits are unpleasant and the other parts are of that gross other place material. And I have never needed such things before.”

          Tommy mentally slapped himself for not recognizing how much plastic went into the inexpensive eyewear. Part of the elfin lad’s mind started running through possible work-arounds.

“I, uh…” Twilight Tommy resisted the urge to reveal his true plan. “I, um, just thought that you’d like to see better… Like, um, the individual leaves and grasses and…” He racked his brain for other things that seemed related to the weather and woodland nonsense that Amy seemed to enjoy. “bugs. You mentioned some concerns about certain beetles and ants, right? So, the glasses will help identify the bad ones.”

          Amaryllis chewed on her lower lip, while considering the eye-wear in her hand more thoughtfully. “I suppose that’s true… I still don’t know about the weird-feeling arm bits, though.”

          “Hey, cool, ah, that’s not a problem.” Twilight Tommy was pleased with his partial victory, yet went for the full success when his side thoughts offered a possible work-around. “Um, I know a woodworker in, uh, Duchy d-Or who can replace the unpleasant bits.”

          Hard-glossy dark-brown eyes snapped up to Tommy’s face. “What kind of wood?” the tree-spirit’s rich tone was dangerously leveled. “Did he murder the tree?”

          “No, no.” Twilight Tommy reflexively raised his hands to ward off Amy’s ire. “I, um, I can make sure that he found fallen branches or, uh, already dead trees.” His own words had become quick and tentative.

          “I suppose that’s alright, then.” Amaryllis sat upright once more, from her accusatory lean.

          “It, uh…” Twilight Tommy rubbed the back of his neck and sidelong watched Amy for further signs of anger. “It makes me wonder though. Uh, what sort of materials are okay? Um, I mean, I understand plastics being bad, but are all metals bad too?”

          “Of course not.” Amaryllis flapped a hand and rolled her large chocolaty eyes. “It’s just… well, whatever those _people_ ,” said scathingly, “do when they start messing about and mixing things together…” Her button nose wrinkled, as she flicked both hands, as if flicking away dirty water. “Always makes whatever they’ve concocted dirty, or itchy, or poison, or sticky, or worse.”

          Twilight Tommy completely understood Amy’s position, even though she seemed much more sensitive to the man-made nature of mundane objects. So, the obsessive writer made certain to make note of Amy’s preferences right away. Then the spare reading-glasses were stowed, separate from the pair which the dryad had selected. Frugal Tommy imagined that if one spirit-touched needed glasses, then he may well wind up gartering with another later. The pair finished there game, which Amaryllis again won—giggling and applauding herself.

          The following day, Twilight Tommy let his good mood (brought on by separate aspect of his life) get the better of him, which resulted in him making a faux pass with Amaryllis. Tommy prematurely presented the final stage of his expand-Amy’s-culinary-horizons plan. In retrospect, the pointy-eared lad would also blame Amy for having distracted him with Queen’s Guard—a deceptively complex game, which he had never heard of before, similar to Chinese Checkers with a strong Chess influence.

          Twilight Tommy had requested the lovely Dryad’s companionship earlier than usual, unwilling to restrain himself until just before bedtime. Amaryllis took the early hour as an opportunity to propose the new game, though. SO, Tommy wound up waiting anyway, as Amy Talked him through the first match. The intent sprite’s bottled eagerness was mollified somewhat with the freshly mulled hot cider which caretaker Amy had also provided.

          Before the second match could get underway, Twilight Tommy could delay no longer. “Before I forget,” he feigned nonchalance, as he retrieved the newest gifts from his Coach messenger-bag, “I got you these.” He handed over a brown-paper grocery bag.

          As Amaryllis methodically extracted the sack’s contents, Twilight Tommy explained the gifts and their wrappings. “Ah, I made sure to remove all of the, uh, manufacturer’s packaging,: Amy drew forth a thick book, clearly titled _The Joy of Cooking_. “Uh, according to the internet, um, that’s like, um, the bible of household cooking.” The buxom lass pulled forth several paper-towel wrapped oblong objects and unwrapped each, as Tommy nodded and smiled. “Those knives are, uh, solid ceramic. Um, it took me a while to find ones with, ah, ceramic handles, as well. But, uh, they’re pretty great, right? No, uh, plastics, no man made alloys, um, and no worry about where wooden handles came from.”

          “So, you don’t think I can cook?” The Amazonian dryad’s flat tone made Tommy regret having armed her with knives.

          “No!” Tan hands waved emphatic palms in accompaniment to a shaking elfin face, as well as a slight roll back away from the table. “No, no, no. It’s, ah, not like that. Not at all.” Twilight Tommy swallowed hard. “I, um, I just thought that since you cook for so many of us, and, uh, we all have such different tastes, uh, then you’d like to have an additional reference guide.” He squinted his pale-orange crystalline eyes and scratched the back of his downturned head. “Um, I just thought the, uh, ceramic knives were cool and, um, might be useful.”

          Amaryllis looked as if she might be contemplating poking holes into Tommy’s justifications. Thus, creating the impetus for Twilight Tommy second faux pass. The normally brighter sprite forced a new topic, launching into the other thing he had done that day which had so lightened his mood in the first place.

 

My shoulders relaxed, as I finally got around to doing some of the research which I had been putting off. I had been avoiding seriously engaging Ariadne’s wondrous rare-books collection, knowing how easily it would be for me to loose track of the hours passing. So, until my more pressing goals had been sorted, I denied my more literary pursuits. However, as soon as I permitted myself the indulgence of investigative learning, a tension of which I had not been fully aware, simply uncoiled through me. I took a deep anticipatory breath, readying to overcome the challenge which I had set myself.

As I may have mentioned before, the rare books so-called room was, in fact, many many rooms and halls and stairways and alcoves and so on, far exceeding the dimensions of even the building’s Briar-located mansion exterior. As if the seemingly endless mazelike space was not hard enough to navigate, the sections were labeled and laid out roughly like a thesaurus. Plus, the majority of tomes, scrolls, and folios where hand written journals or travel logs, which may contain a particularly useful insight somewhere amongst endless day-to-day recountings. So, a fair amount of educated-guesswork went into locating a source on almost any topic, let alone several to compose a reliable theory.

The décor of sections varied dramatically, often themed to the section itself—the Dark section was in a pitch black closet, or the ogre section was in a stone tower-room on book shelves made of bones, for example. At least, there were divans and chairs and desks and so forth, tucked into niches here and there. With even a few semi-private rooms containing wide tables for groups to congregate. Even so, I exhaled with relief, when I found a little desk, on which to deposit my first double-armload of books and old journals. Rubbing my arms, I wondered if the ache would be enough to remind me to secure a study spot, before selecting a couple of dozen pounds of reading materials, for the next time.

The style, of the secluded study space, struck me as a good omen. The roll-top desk was exceptionally similar to the one within my haven solarium-room. Although, more worn and far less handsomely polished.

          Before sitting down, I opened my pocket-sized notebook to the page with my relevant research criteria “Investigate Pashmi”. Thus, every time that I finished taking a new note, in my other full-sized notebook, or reached for another tome, I would be reminded of my mission. I sometimes frowned at the need for such a memory trigger, yet could not deny its effects. Early on, in my experiences at Ariadne’s, my research gathering attempts all inevitably resulted in me selecting a hodge-podge of references works. All of which looked intriguing, while having nothing in common to the actual information that I sought.

          From my first interactions with Pashmi, I had concerns that she might be a succubus, or have similar insidiously malicious drives—like Dark Sol’s life draining. Realistically, I told myself that if Pashmi had not already devoured my soul, or whatever evil sex-spirits did, then she was unlikely to do so. On the other hand, I worried that I might be under some sort of compulsion, like a more long lasting version of Tegan Bramblerose’s bloomwell aroma. Again, the mere fact that I had the ability and will to want to question such a thing, pointed to the conclusion that I was not effected in that way. Even so, if I did not follow through, then that too may have simply been the subtle magic guiding me away from a important revelation.

         

“You could have asked her.” Amaryllis observed, while watching the talkative lad study the board.

          “Yeah, well, uh,” Twilight Tommy shrugged, “I thought about that, ah, a couple of times.” He moved one of his guards. “But, um, lots of the spirit-touched I’ve met, uh, find those kinds of questions rudely personal. And, uh, I really didn’t want to, uh, offending Pashmi.” Tommy shrugged one shoulder. “If I didn’t learn anything upsetting to me, then why risk upsetting her. So, I could, ah, just keep my research to myself, um, unless it revealed something terrible. Uh, in which case, uh, I’d be breaking off relations with her, uh, anyway.” Rubbing his neck, Tommy looked sheepishly to the side. “Um, besides, I _really_ wanted to do research and think about Pashmi, uh, at the same time.”

          Amaryllis was contemplating her next Queen’s Guard move, so it was unclear how what Tommy had said affected her, if at all. So, the sprite continued his narration.

 

Using the few distinct features of Pashmi’s appearance and demeanor, that I had observed, I cross referenced many possible sections of the rare-books collection. The process was plodding and rewarding, like panning for gold—long stretches of sloshing silt, then a gleaming nugget finally appears. It only took me a few hours, before I was pumping my fist in a silent eureka.

The first nugget was a manual of henna tattoo patterns, which included a loose translation to English. Useful for determining that the golden tats, which Pashmi wore, were associated with restraint and peace. So, whether the coppery-skinned lass was marked by choice or not, I felt much confident that she was not malevolent. I assumed that the gold coloration was an aspect of her choleric humor. The Tattoo manual also narrowed my searching to a particular region of India.

          With another hour or two’s diligence, I located a book which described “apsaras”, a sort of passion and mist spirit, associated within Hindu mythologies. The description of the always attractive and female, East-Indian elemental, fit more closely to Pashmi than any other I had encountered. Especially, as it explained the cloudiness within the sultry lady’s skin and eyes.

          I am sure that my eyes gleamed with my pride of success, at first. Then, as I read the collected tales, my jaw tightened in horror of my fears being confirmed. The central purpose of apsaras was to corrupt seekers of enlightenment…

 

“ _Corrupt_ certainly sounds bad.” Amaryllis smooth voice was thoughtful, as she sipped her cider. As a dryad, the voluptuous lass had a clearer understanding, than most, of how myth born prejudices could cloud the actualities of a fae’s motivations.

          “Uh, yeah, that’s what I, um, thought, too.” Twilight Tommy was leaning back and rubbing the back of his neck. “Then, I looked into what the Hindu sources meant by corruption and decided that it didn’t really apply to me.”

          “Really?” Amaryllis elegant reddish eyebrows arced upwards.

          “Uh, yeah.” Twilight Tommy half shrugged and plucked up his own steaming mug. “For Hindu monks, um, to reach enlightenment, uh, they must successfully eschew all worldly things, uh, wealth, sex, even food to a large extent. Uh, There’s a lot more to it, um, of course, but the point, ah, is apsaras tempt the seekers of enlightenment, uh, with supposedly un-resistible physical pleasures.” Replacing his mug, after drinking, Tommy moved one pale-wooden guard piece. “Since, uh, I have no interest, um, in that kind of enlightenment, I don’t have the, uh, right kind of spiritual energy to feed an apsaras.” A slender male hand wave. “It’s like an apsaras is, uh, like a supernaturally persuasive waitress, um, up-selling the steak entre. It would only, ah, matter if I was a vegetarian…” Tommy contemplated Amy’s counter move. “Plus, um, just in case the literature was being more, uh, metaphorical, I’ve been testing my, uh, moonlight aura and it seems, uh, as bright as ever.”

          “ _Oh, really_?” Amy’s resonant voice was more of a hum, as she fixed Tommy with suggestively lidded eyes and a maple-red knowing smirk.

          Which is when Twilight Tommy remembered why he had not wanted to mention Pashmi to the surprisingly astute (or perhaps, deceptively naïve) wood-grained woman. Amaryllis had proven far too perceptive when Tommy had asked about having guests over to the oak-haven. In truth, it had been the steadfast dryad’s comments which had truly prompted Twilight Tommy to seek more details about Pashmi trustworthiness.

However, the inexperienced elfin lad was also worried that his talk of dating Pashmi upset Amaryllis, or maybe he simply wanted to believe that a second sexy lady could be jealous of him. Realistically, Tommy knew that Amy most likely did not even have such urges, at least not toward non-trees… Yet, the possibility tickled Tommy’s puzzle solving curiosity enough to plunge him into another social experiment with the savvy-naïve dryad.

Blushing just enough to believably blame it on the cider, Twilight Tommy launched into details which he had been wanting to share with Amaryllis (well, anyone that he could trust, honestly—Amy was the only person that currently qualified), yet had been too reticent.

 

Pashmi of the deliciously chai flavored kisses had not seemed disappointed on our second date exactly, although I had found myself wishing that I had secured a room for that evening. Sadly, I was so addled that I had not even realized that I could have simply paid for lodging outright, rather than making sure I had a comp to use. No matter what, I simply had not expected a lady as fine as Pashmi to be interested in going farther with me, at least not before a third date. Which may have been norman thinking on my part, on top of everything else. I had simply never been able to get pretty girls to look at me, when I was mortal and found it hard to believe that too had changed about me.

          Even so, I had arranged a third date with Pashmi, to meet me at the room which I would rent at the MGM, that Wednesday. I had felt crudely obvious, however the sensual lady had not seem put off at all. Of course, Pashmi’s exceptional poise may have masked any misgivings.

          On the other hand—I allowed my libido to convince me—for the most part, Pashmi has seemed to find my mild-awkwardness and social-insecurity cute and somewhat refreshing. In truth, I had already suspected that Pashmi had been around as a spirit-touched far longer than me and that someone so experienced, as well as so effortlessly attractive, must have had to put up with all manner of men trying to impress her with every flavor of machismo. So, my clumsy, cautious, eagerness must have been a rare treat in a buffet of cholerically motivated brutishness and bravado.

In retrospect, knowing about apsaras, it is likely the passion-spirit found my restraint challenging, even if it really was just nervousness from my perspective.

          That stay at MGM was far more than worth the value of the complimentary voucher, with which I had paid. Flexible Pashmi and I did not leave the room from check-in Wednesday to check-out Thursday—and then only because she had to go to work. I shall not be so gauche as to go into specifics, although I will say that I did what I could to make certain that fortune favored both of our efforts. However, prior to the shear physicality of our time together, I was gloriously dumbstruck when Pashmi entered the room and insisted, “Before we go any further, we need to establish what this is.”

          “Uh…” I replied, as gormlessly-suave as ever, standing at the foot of the bed. The room provided little space to stand anywhere else.

          “Are we,” Pashmi rolled her stormy eyes, “just having fun today?” Gold accented hand waving at the bed. “A climactic end to our dating trilogy. Are you expecting long term monogamy?” Pashmi placed her hands on her hips one hip jauntily out. “Additionally, exactly how far are you willing to go in this room? Did you bring toys?”

          I could not tell from Pashmi’s tone, which (if any) of the options were her preference. I could not tell what my preferences were, for that matter. I could see my reflection in one of the room’s picture frames. Of course, that showed my gawky mortal Masque and the reflection was blushing crimson. From the warm-flush I felt, I imagined that my spirit-touched Mien matched. I was so excited, astounded, and nervous that I wondered if my mood-shifting eyes were flashing like fireworks.

          Taking a breath, I enacted my Fairest Tongue glamour. I felt that I had needed the boost, simply to speak. Luckily, the magic also helped me to think, both about what I wanted and Pashmi’s body language and facial cues. So, the two of us sat on the foot of the bed and spent a half-hour or so, negotiating terms of what we each wanted from a relationship with each other.

It felt thrillingly grown up. I had no idea that a man and a woman could be so direct with each other, without devolving into a screaming match, or tears. The up side of which was that Pashmi and I are boyfriend and girlfriend, yet will still be able to have casual sexual encounters with other people. Admittedly, I believed that Pashmi would benefit from such openness far more than myself, while I just counted myself lucky to spend time with her.

At least that is how I felt initially. After that twenty-hours in the MGM room, I knew that I was also getting an education beyond anything the Kama Sutra may impart.

 

“But,” Amaryllis’s large eyes were filled with concern, as if Tommy had just described responding to an email from a self-proclaimed Nigerian prince, “you did negotiate for all the same liberties, didn’t you?”

          “Huh?” Twilight Tommy was surprised by Amy’s technical rather than emotional reaction. “Uh, well, yeah.” He tugged one earlobe. “I mean, uh, Pashmi was clearly worried that I, um, was trying to lock her into something, uh, but it never came up that the opposite, uh, might happen… Well, um not seriously anyway.” Tommy shrugged. “Uh, I just automatically always, um, insisted that we should both agree to, uh, the same terms. Um, I thought it would like, uh, help put her at ease, um, since it seemed most fair.”

          “And you have spoken with her since?” Amaryllis was less intensely concerned, yet retained a matronly tone. “No deceptive wording has come to light?”

          Tommy smiled, both from the pleasure of seeing that the kindly dryad was concerned for his wellbeing and because he was glad that her legitimate concerns had proven unnecessary. Although, on another level, the slender sprite was a little disappointed, because he perceived Amy’s interests more as a tree-spirit watching out for the wellbeing of one of her resident-guardians, rather than the sexy wood-nymph making sure that he was still available

          “I have, um, met her several times for, uh, lunch or dinner.” Twilight Tommy confirmed. “As well as, uh, other things, when she, um, had more time. Un, other than the fact that I, uh, simply have a more open schedule, uh, everything has been great.” He moved his queen piece to the center-throne position. “Especially, um, in light of what I, uh, learned of apsaras today, uh, I see no warning signs.”

Twilight Tommy considered his feelings more than the board-game for a moment and wound up leaving an opening for his queen to be captured. Frowning at the lost position Tommy still said, “Pashmi is, um, like the best thing to happen to me, uh, since escaping from my Keeper, uh, with getting my Ford Focus as a distant second…. Um, at least, uh, within the mundane world. Uh, outside of there, this haven, um, is by far the best.” A surreptitious glance confirmed that the flattery had generated an elicit smile from Amy. “But, uh, when Pashmi and I are, um, together, we are, uh, with each other and she, um, ignores the advances of anyone else. It‘s, uh, not her fault that I don’t, um, get hit-on by others.”

          Then there was a five minute digression, in which Twilight Tommy had to explain to Amaryllis that the slang term “hit-on” was not meant in any literal way. By the end Amy had won the Queen’s Guard match and Tommy suspected that she may have been feigning some of her ignorance as a successful distraction technique. The two played one more match, in which Twilight Tommy remained far more focused on the game and won. Then, it was late enough, so the two went off to their separate slumbers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	5. Chapter 5

V

in the wee hours, Twilight Tommy made his way back once more to his tree-house. The surrounding are and had been the pure-black pitch which night could only achieve within the Wilder Woods. That is, of course, except around the luminous blond sprite, who’s particular faery aura basked his immediate surroundings in a patch of moonlight.

It was the evening following Amaryllis’s tutelage in the game of Queen’s Guard, Twilight Tommy returned home, after another day first spent in Las Vegas (with Pashmi, poker, as well as an even more fruitful meeting), then several hours spent back on the Ohio side of things researching spirit-touched lore and terminology. The calculating lad exulted and sped eagerly to his room-on-high. Tommy was even more eager to share his news, as he had been the day before. This time promised to be better, since the slender fellow would not be trying to keep anything back, as he had intended to with the Pashmi news and the cooking tools.

          Upon reaching the apex of the almost ladder-steep branch-stairs which led to Twilight Tommy’s “penthouse suite”, he stopped short to inspect the door. A pair of glossy, black and white, scaly, leathery tubes, laced with leather cording, hung by that self-same cording from the pale-ceramic doorknob.

Jaw set, Tommy pushed on his door, making certain to avoid the unfamiliar leathery objects. The sprite exhaled, as the door failed to ease open, proving that a lurking intruder had, at least, not left the door ajar behind themselves. Crystalline deep-orange eyes darted around, seeking a foe or prankster. Finding no skulking menace, still left the possibility that someone or thing may await within, having closed the door properly in their wake. Tommy rapped a knuckle lightly on his room’s door and called in a stage whisper. “Amy? Are you, um, there?”

Tommy felt the throb of his pulse, from toes to temple, a score or so times, before Amy’s impressive torso leaned out of the weather-stained clapboards, which formed the room’s exterior, as if they were stage-curtains and she was jauntily angling into view of the audience. Although, the athletic dryad’s typically doll-sweet face scowled and her archer’s shoulders were firm as they crossed her sculpted arms (like Linda Hamilton in T2) tight before her.

“Um,” Twilight Tommy swallowed hard, “uh, hello Amy. You, um, look upset. Is, um, is there something, uh, wrong?”

“Hmmm…” Amaryllis practically growled. “Let’s see.” She started to raise one finger for each point, without uncrossing her arms. “First you whoop like a signaling-loon, loud enough to wake me and Gaea only knows what else for a quarter mile in every direction. Then, you ran up the spiraling trunk branch-stairs. Then you burst through the front door, as if you had forgotten it was there. Then, you clomped through the main room. Then, up the corkscrew stairs. Then, more banging through the hatch, along the swaying bridges, and the rest of the stairs. All the while, stomping in those stupid… heavy… metal-filled… boots.” Her tone was flat disapproval, as she jabbed a pointing finger at the offending Doc Marten’s punctuating each of the last few words.

“Uh, um…” Twilight Tommy swallowed even harder, then hoped he could sway the tree-spirit’s sometimes fickle mood. “I was, um, just so excited…” He blinked his crystalline eyes as widely as he could manage, “you know, um, to be home again. I, uh, just didn’t think that I was running that, um, badly…”

“Perhaps,” Amaryllis re-crossed her arms, albeit less stiffly than before, “you should start thinking more about stomping willy-nilly all through me and less about all those other follies that you’re always going on about.”

“Yes, of course.” Twilight Tommy conceded earnestly. “I, um, like you and, uh, should be more considerate.”

Amaryllis sucked in both of her lips and weighed the moon-bright elf’s words for a moment. The lass relaxed her posture a little more and asked. “Why are you standing out here, anyway?”

“Oh, uh,” Twilight Tommy pointed tentatively at his door ornamentation, “what is that?”

“The wrinkled-gnarling made those for you.” Wide and full dark lips smiled around a mouth of strait teeth which only looked slightly like bleached wood—the previous upset apparently forgotten. “He wanted to put them in your room. But, you didn’t tell me that was okay. So, I made him leave them there.” She nodded, indicating both the location and her pride at having defended Tommy’s privacy.

          “ _Okay_ …” Twilight Tommy let the word roll out slowly, as he considered the information. Then concluding there was no serious threat the slender lad carefully lifted the gift by its cords, with one finger and entered his room, while saying, “But, um, did he say why?”

          Inside the room, Tommy had expected to see the dryad’s curvaceous back side, at least momentarily, as she adjusted her position. Instead, the few seconds it had taken the pointy-eared fellow to enter, Amaryllis had reformed above his desk, as if she were a mirror image of her exterior self. Amy rolled her large glossy-dark eyes and giggled, “Because _you_ asked him to, silly.”

          Twilight Tommy’s normally-smooth brow furrowed, as much as it was able. Tommy thought hard, while hanging his Coach bag from the back of his chair and setting the textured leather tubes on this desk. The monochromatic scale pattern of the gift jogged Tommy’s memory a little.

          “This, uh, looks like vermicious k’nid hide,” Twilight Tommy sat in the wheeled chair, with his hands in his lap, staring at the scaly objects, “I, um, know that Tallwind had tanned the hide, after he and, um, Rai dragged it back here.” Amber eyes blinked. “I, uh, sort of remember him saying that he was going to try and sell it, uh, to other fae, once he finished tanning it.”

          “Yes, yes.” Amaryllis flapped one hand dismissively. “That was just after you all killed that burrowing menace.” She stuck out her tongue, shook her head, and rolled her large eyes. “I was referring to the morning after the wrinkled-one… um, Sean, had come back with the bandage on his neck…” Seeing that Tommy still looked blank, the dryad sighed and launched into a full recounting of that morning. “There had been a single horizon-to-horizon medium-low thin cloud. The wind was gusty along upper branches, yet broke within the trees, to a light breeze at ground level…”

Twilight Tommy had accepted, by this time, that Amaryllis spent a significant amount of her personal time in elaborate and elongated conversations with other Briar-flora. Conversations about which, it turned out, Mr. Tolkien had been only partially correct. Trees could indeed take a long time to converse, on a suitable subject. The reality was that flora-lingua (plant-language) was not much slower or inherently more complex, rather the trees and ferns and such were sticklers for specificity and nuance, on subjects with which they felt connection—mostly weather and soil. Thus, whenever such topics arose, Amy was effectively compelled to over elaboration, including elements such as wind speed and temperature across trunk and branches, moisture levels of air and earth, sound quality, and so forth.

          Tommy had also learned how to mostly tune-out, when the statuesque dryad started off on such meteorological monologs. The blond-streaked sandy-haired lad had identified key words and cadences for which to listen, in order to determine when Amaryllis was ready to speak of more humanoid things once more.

          Usually, Twilight Tommy would spend such periods organizing his thoughts and preparing new topics—or strategies, if a game of some sort was also in progress. Unfortunately, this time the spritely elf remained mentally stuck in neutral, while continuing to try and recall anything about the bracers in front of him. Tommy was, at least, grateful to have identified the scaled-hide and its new function. Twilight Tommy gave up his internal efforts as Amy started in on recounting details which he hoped would bare relevance.

 

At breakfast, the wrinkling-one mentioned something about general safety in light of his injury at the hands of that Barber Keeper. I was cooking so, had not caught the specifics of what was said. Then the wrinkly one said, “I’m gonna make some armor out of that scaly hide, I tanned. So, who wants some?” He sniff and shifted in his seat to see you other diners, without having to turn his sore neck. ”Thing was big as a hippo, so I should have enough hide for at least three suits. But, I need accurate measurements, before I can get started.”

          “I want one.” The earth-elemental raised one massive redish-orange, hand, eagerly, as if his hard and rough clay-skin would not stop most attacks already. “Since, I always seem to be charging into the dangers that we keep finding ourselves in.”

The big black-cat-man actually perked up from the cushy, deerskin chair—the one that he likes to sit in and watch birds through the living room windows. “Uh, yeah, I’d like some armor.”

         “Well, you’ll take one, right?” the metal-y gnarling pointed a spoonful of the granola and nut-milk—which I had made—at the wrinkly one. Then, the metal-y one ate the scoop.

          “Yeah,” flower-girl encouraged, even though she was still a little pink and winded from running and jumping around the clearing, like she does every morning, “Since you were the one that almost died last time. You’re the one that needs the extra protection, right?”

          “Oh, no!” The wrinkled-gnarling moved his head slowly from side to side twice, his dirt-brown eyes were opened wide, and he held up both hands with the long-thin finger-branches all spread wide, like little fence posts. “I won’t need any, ‘cause I ain’t goin’ to be gettin’ into that sort of situation again.”

          I had to go shoo away a dumb badger, so I missed some of what was said. When I returned, the wrinkly one had decided that the stiff metal-y gnarling would get the third suit of armor. Then, flower-girl said, “Um, I don’t really want armor, but if there's enough spare strips, I could use some wrist sheaths.”

          Then, when flower-girl pulled out her throwy-knives, you said, “Yeah, uh, if there are scraps and stuff, uh, I wouldn’t mind a wrist-cuff or two.”

          I grow my own armor, so needed no such garments. The otter-beastling and leech-girl weren’t here, as usual. So, I approved that the wrinkly-one did not make anything for them.

 

Twilight Tommy had smiled with amusement at Amy’s vocal imitations, up until she had mimicked him. The dryad's rich female resonance being forced into the gruff and wheezy machismo of the other male tree-house residents just sounded silly. Plus, Amy’s impression of Tegan Bramblerose was spot on, yet heightened to accentuate the green-eyed ROTC cadet’s own macho streak. Similarly, Tommy simply felt that the depiction of him was also too accurate and was embarrassed to think that he sounded that hesitant and aloof.

          As for the bracers, Twilight Tommy could only scratch his head. “that sounds like what I would ask for..” He lifted the armbands and turned them over and around for close inspection. “Ah, not that these are cuffs, um, they’re full-blown medieval-style bracers.”

          Even in the colorless light of Tommy’s faery glow, the bracers scaled glistened with a rainbow sheen. It was as if the tanned leather had a thin coating of oil and water, although they were perfectly dry to the touch.

“Maybe he misunderstood.” Amaryllis smiled helpfully. “Or maybe he forgot half way through. Just like you forgot asking for them.” She touched her sturdy fingers to her face and said, “ _Ooo_ ,” her tone was teasing, “maybe you’re both beset with the invisible nibbler fish.” She wiggled her fingers around Tommy’s golden locks.

          Twilight Tommy rolled his darkening orange-amber eyes. The luminous sprite tried to ignore the mocking whenever Amy, or one of the others, made fun of his worry over the flying-fish creatures. Tommy even bit his tongue to stop from correcting the wood-spirit, when she meant to say “niggler”. At least, it was a little less frustrating from Amaryllis, as she had never seen a niggler. Everyone else had been there, a couple of weeks earlier, when the Salamander Court’s hunter, Lor, had plucked several of the-until then—invisible fish from the thin air around Tegan and Tommy’s heads. Which was another level of frustration for the elfin lad, because although alluring and influential Tegan Bramblerose never participated in the niggler-related teasing, she also failed to admit that knowing that they were real.

          “If I had, uh, gotten simple cuffs,” Twilight Tommy attempted to keep the conversation on the bracers, as he held them up, “Uh, I probably could have traded them for something useful, um, in one of the Red Court duchies.” He started to try them on, pausing to get Amy’s help with the ties. “But these seem way too nice, uh, to give away… I mean, uh, look at that sort of rainbow sheen… I’m probably only going to wear one at a time, um, just to make sure the other one stays in fresh condition.”

          “That sounds ridiculous.” Amaryllis chided lightly. “Although, the wrin… “ She caught and corrected herself mid-word, “Sean Tallwind did say that these were the best things he had made out of the k’nid hide.”

          “Really?” Twilight Tommy wondered why the gruff burn victim would give him the most masterful item and not curvaceous Miss Bramblerose or one of the more bodyguard like men.

          “Oh, yes.” Amaryllis nodded her rustling-leaf sounding nod, while admiring the play of light on the bracers. “He was quite pouty about it, even for him. He grumbled something about how he should have done the bracers first, for practice.” She shrugged, her leaf-clad forefront distracting Tommy from his own iridescently-armored forearms. “I guess the earth… Gavin Granitbane’s armor was first and it was a disappointment for some reason. “ Amy waved a hand dismissively. “It looked fine to me… Although, admittedly your bracelets are the only ones that shimmer like that.”

          Tommy’s mind was too preoccupied to let his mouth clarify the differences between bracelets and bracers. After a moment or two, the serious lad nodded decisively, having concluded that to keep the arm-guards, he would have to reciprocate in some way. So, rather than replying to Amaryllis, Twilight Tommy got out his notepad and wrote, “Gift for Tallwind”.

          Then, Tommy returned his attention to the still “hovering” redhead and asked if she felt like playing some cards. As the table was set-up/grown, the spritely lad’s minds once more started to whirl and ping about its chaotic array of contemplations. As Twilight Tommy unlaced his right bracer and set it atop his desk, next to a leather cuff which held five fifty-dollar gold coins, he found himself vacillating between two ideas which had been vexing him—on and off—for quite some time.

          The primary issue was a simple sounding question. However, in Twilight Tommy’s head that inquiry always led to potential misunderstandings, possibly of a physically-uncomfortable outcome. Especially, since Tommy was learning that even though Amy usually seemed unshakably positive and enthusiastic—like the best possible version of a cheerleader—she had stronger emotions just below the surface. Moods made more difficult to predict , because Amaryllis also openly displayed a naïveté which made her seem younger than her body appeared, or less than smart. As Twilight Tommy had been studying more about fae and the Twisting Briar, he had started to suspect that Amy’s attitudes were mostly symptomatic of her having lived too long alone in the Thorns.

Even so, Twilight Tommy knew that he had to be careful with both the timing and the phrasing of certain personal questions. Tommy very much did not want to wind up like snide Sean Tallwind had once been—stuck in a pod of giant leaves, dangling from the oak’s high branches. Amaryllis never said exactly what arrogant Mr. Tallwind had done, to earn his several day long time-out, although she had made it clear that it had been lewd. While Sean had probably truly been intentionally crude, there was still a chance that Tommy’s words may be misapprehended.

On the other hand, Twilight Tommy’s curiosity over Amy’s true nature had been growing greater than his instinctive caution. The essential question of whether the wood-brown beauty was the oak-haven’s staff, host, landlord, or something else, was the least intrusive of the things which Tommy wanted clarified.

So, the luminous sprite tossed away some of his caution, along with the four of spades which he was discarding, “Amy, uh.. “ He mentally slapped himself for the hesitant speech pattern, then went on more conscious of editing out the hems and haws. “What is our relationship? I mean, I know the others and I are here in part to protect the tree and in turn you provide shelter and defense for us. Plus, you gather food, cook, and clean. Is that because you like to do those things, or are you compelled to?”

          Amaryllis set her hand of cards face down, while she spent several long moments chewing her lower lip and twirling a crimson and orange strand of hair around two fingers. After a few aborted starts, the contemplative dryad offered, “You gave me some of your you-magic and I use mine for you.”

Twilight Tommy waited for Amy to draw and play a card before seeking more clarity. “Okay, sure, I get that we shared magic. But, does that mean that the magic makes you do certain things? Like obey orders. How much choice do you have?”

The tree-spirit’s response was no more edifying than her first. However, Tommy stuck to his personal mission of learning and attempted to rephrase and tweak his inquiry. The duo played two full games of Gin-Rummy, while exchanging reworded versions of their question and answer.

Twilight Tommy’s eventual conclusion was that the haven/dryad and the magic contributing residents were a kind of family-by-ritual. In the mundane world, marriage had pretty much been the only similar kind of ritual of which Tommy was aware. Although, with Amaryllis the group binding had been different. Amy was not wife to any of the gang, the bond was more akin to each member having gained a shared sister. Similar to a step sister if all of the troupe’s parents had gotten married, yet even more so. As if somehow the union had retroactively made the dryad each group member’s half-sister, only with the maximum sense of loyalty and without any shared blood making attraction squickiness.

At least, Twilight Tommy preferred that last caveat. For the high-cheeked lad despised the idea that his attraction to Amy might seem incestuous. Especially, because as the two held their private conversations, Tommy only found his affection increasing for the wood-spirit’s interpretations and outlooks, as much as her pulse-pounding physique.

No matter what, Twilight Tommy’s caution-meter remained steadily higher than his impulse-gauge to make any sexual suggestions of Amaryllis. So, regardless of what the elfin lad fantasized, he and Amy’s interactions would stay platonic. Tommy’s affection had evolved such that he was not even solely trying to stay out of a pod-based disciplinary act, he also actually wanted to avoid upsetting the tree-lady.

          Along those lines, After Twilight Tommy had won both card matches, he suggested that they might switch over to Queen’s Guard. Tommy knew that Amaryllis was better at such board-games, so imagined that she would enjoy winning. Not that the choleric sprite did not try his best, he simply tended to loose focus. Case in point, after the first few moves, Twilight Tommy remembered his good news from earlier and shared it with Amaryllis.

 

Six or seven days earlier, I had reminded Iron Wade the Man of Steal about an offer he had made to help me acquire Fetch-Tom’s Mustang. I could not really consider taking anything from my doppelganger as theft. If anything everything that the false me had was reparations for the enslavement I had suffered, however I had to work methodically without any legal ramifications, which almost meant keeping my furious indignation in check. Additionally, Iron Wade and I both knew how it would look to the mortal authorities if we got caught, so we planned to keep the car retrieval as surreptitious as possible.

          Theoretically, since the vehicle was listed in my True Name, I could simply take the car. However, I did not want to personally try to collect the keys, or hotwire the car, and risk accidentally encountering the shadow-eater face-to-face. Everything that I have learned within Ariadne’s archive about shadow-eaters, indicated that confronting my replacement was likely to set him off—revealing his true nature to himself (if he did not know already( and granting him access to glamour-like powers. Then Fetch-Tom would try to destroy me, so that he could keep my life unchallenged. Until I was confident that the shadow-eater could not get some upper-hand or other, I would not risk that meeting.

          So, gunmetal-grey eyed Wade and I agreed that he would spy on Fetch-Tom. I had used my old banking passwords and FaceBook to verify where the imposter lived and the car that he drove—as sweet dark-blue 2010 Mustang, that was far too cool for the jerk. Then Iron Wade the Man of Steal would use his mechanically manipulative faery magics to swipe the shadow-eater’s Mustang, at an opportune moment.

Gavin Granitbane had been hanging around, as usual, and offered to help Wade. The clay-complexioned guy claimed to just want something to do, but I was pretty sure that he was hoping for a dangerous fight to break-out with Fetch-Tom and his drug-addicted cronies. Honestly, I hoped for the same event, so that the murderous Wade and Gavin could take care of all of my shadow-eater conundrums for me. I discovered later that Iron Wade had also successfully recruited hirsute Freerunner and his unobtrusive taxi, as well.

As the days passed, I grew suspicious that my cohorts had gotten cold feet, or maybe forgotten the mission altogether. Then earlier today Iron Wade the Man of Steal called my iPhone4S and asked, “I’m going in. Where would you keep spare keys, if you had an apartment?”

          “Uh,” I stopped peddling my Dahon D7, on the side of Nevada’s State Highway 15, “why? I thought you had a glamour that could get you into the car?”

          “Yeah, I do.” Wade's haspy voice was mildly condescending. “But, I figured why ruin the steering column with a hotwire, if I could just as easily break into his place and grab the spare keys.”

I chewed my lip, for a moment, then concluded that it was Wade (and probably Gavin’s) neck. If he wanted to risk jail time from breaking and entering, I saw no personal down-side. Although, I regretted, a little, being so far outside of Sin City that I could not also establish a solid alibi.

I shrugged to myself and guessed at an answer for Wade, “Near the door. I always used to keep spare keys as close to the door as possible, for emergency access… But, not in plain sight. Try a drawer, or lidded container, of some kind. There’ll, uh, probably be a bunch of other minor use things, ah, like garbage ties and batteries and letter openers and stuff.”

          I heard some rattling, like junk drawers being opened and rummaged through.

“Cool, got ‘em.” Wade said after a minute or so. “Where do you want to meet.”

“Um,” I rubbed the back of my sweaty neck, “I’m heading into Vegas, right now. I, uh, could meet you at the first set of tables, just inside the Duchy d’Argent.”

“See ya there, in a couple of hours then.” Iron Wade rasped, then hung up.

Shaking my head, I pocketed my iPhone4S. I had wanted to tell the dour gnarling to trash the shadow-eater’s place, only Mr. O’Steal rang-off too quick. I was also sweating, but deduced quickly that was weather related not nervousness. As I spit out a camping-match, to restore my Summer’s Embrace glamour, I realized that I was better off having not made the request. Wrecking the apartment would only have made Fetch-Tom too wary, while also seeming like a victim to any mortal authorities.

          A few hours later steely-eyed Wade and Tegan Bramblerose met me within the Silver Duchy. I generally preferred Duchy d’Or, however d’Argent was easier to get to as it was through a special portal just inside the entrance to Siegfried & Roy's Secret Garden at the Mirage casino and resort, rather than down and down a very long set of stairs. The Silver Duchy’s main attraction was its fighting pits, which I found too bloody, thoughtless, and testosterone laden… Although, that assessment is not meant to discount the many female participants, I simply do not know a gender neutral way to indicate far too many people that are all trying to out alpha each other… Oh hey, I guess I do know the gender neutral phrase. Regardless, the d’Argent was mostly in the open air, at least. So, the smells of sweat, blood, and worse never built up.

Iron Wade wore his typical pale blue dress-shirt (buttoned to cover as much of his scarring as possible), jeans, steel-toed boots, and the blueprint tube that he used to conceal his fencing rapier. Stunning Tegan, on the other hand, was in full prim business woman attire with a grass-green skirt-suit and dangerously red pumps. Both of my allies sported huge grins, which looked way better on the auburn-haired hottie than the usually grim gentleman. Wade twirled a set of 2010 Mustang keys on one hash-marked finger.

As the pair joined me, at the little café-style table, which I had secured, I asked, “So, um, no Gavin?”

“He traded up.” Tegan’s rose-red smile was wry, as she pointed a crimson-nailed thumb at Wade..

Iron Wade blinked his grey eyes, as if he did not get the joke, “Uh, yeah, I guess. Really, Gavin was just bored with traveling around and said he wanted to hang at the oak tree , instead.”

I grinned at Tegan’s eye roll, which Wade also missed. I asked, “So, you got the car then?”

“No,” Iron Wade the Man of Steal sniffed with un-concern and shook his head, “I knew it was clear to get into the apartment because Fetch-Tom had drove off in the car with some pretty messed up looking brunet girl. I’m guessing that she was still too drunk or high, from the night before, to get herself home.”

Tegan Bramblerose and I both frowned at the description. I prompted, “Sooo…”

Wade performed an almost mechanical half shrug. “I’ll go back tomorrow, or the next day, when he’s asleep and get the car.”

Miss Bramblerose’s emerald eyes bore into Wade with confused incredulity. “Why’d you come all the way out here then?”

“To prove that I had the keys.” Iron Wade the Man of Steal shrugged, with both scarred hands resting on the table top. “And to get Tommy’s Festiva Keys.”

“Yeah, uh, that’s right.” I clarified. “Our best case scenario plan, um, has always been to swap Fetch-Tom’s Mustang for my Festiva. Not only does it, ah, seem like a bigger F-you to the prick shadow-eater, uh, it also means that he gets stuck with one of the cars that the police have on tape, uh, leaving the O’Malley’s massacre.” Which was what the news had called the aftermath of our gang’s slaughter of the redcaps.

While I fished out my car-keys, a bright-yellow stick-bug-beastling lad delivered the drinks, which I had pre-order for when my colleagues arrived. The dusky-orange sun was setting and cast long purple shadows over our trio’s table. Cheers and occasional faint _thwaps_ from the fighting-pits sounded like distant ocean waves, yet were merely a few dozen yards away past some money changer’s stalls, mini-oases, and a decorative wall.

Iron Wade chose to fill the conversational space by describing my imposter’s living quarters. “So anyway, Fetch-Tom’s place was a pretty typical stoner-kid den.” The former college instructor and athlete said, with some disapproval in his raspy voice, then met my gaze, “No offense.”

“He’s not _me_!” I protested and gripped my beer mug’s handle tighter. “I hate everything that he’s done with my life. It’s why I want to make him miserable by taking his car and leaving him with a cop magnet!”

          Wade’s smirk, as he drank his own micro-brew, gave away that he had been trying and succeeding in pushing my buttons. The weather-worn fellow raised a hand, even more scarred on the palm than the back, “Okay, dude, whatever.”

          I let it go… Well, I tried to let it go. I definitely slouched back in my chair, in a manner that most likely looked as if I had brushed the tease aside. Even if my companions blindly misinterpreted it as petulant fuming.

          “Anyway,” The fencing teacher turned grease-monkey continued, “the guy decorates like a fairly generic scumbag. The furniture might have been decent once, but is now mostly cigarette burns. No real books or anything remotely cultural. He had a poster with a naked blond laying on a Lamborghini, hanging in the dinning room.”

          “ _Cla-a-assy-y_.” Tegan Bramblerose interjected, drawing the word out with exaggerated sarcasm and looking at me in that way which women have when they disapprove of something crudely sexual. The capable young lady’s dark ale was already two-thirds gone—compared to mine or Wade’s one-quarter drank.

          As an aside, theoretically, men also have the same look. Although, I have never met a straight guy that ever disapproved of any conversation with a sexualized female component.

“He’s _not_ me.” I was more pleading, as I failed to resist rising to the attractive woman’s bait. I placed my mug down hard enough to wobble the table a bit.

          “The flat-screen TV,” Wade went on, dead-pan, “and surround sound stereo, looked pretty nice though. He had some consol game system called an X-box, as well. I didn’t try it, but it looked cool.”

          My muscle-clenching jealousy, of the thing that wore my face, competed with act-placid pride, of wanting to leave my two needlers unsatisfied. So, I changed the topic, to one where I made them feel old and out of touch. Even though, Tegan looked no older than me and had only been two or three my senior, when we were mortal.

Because I (unlike my allies) paid attention, I knew that neither of my them had spent much time learning about the advances of norman technology in the fourteen-plus mundane years which we had missed, while captives of the Folk. So, I explained to the teasing-twins just what I had learned of the latest consol platforms and high-definition televisions. Information that I had gained as a natural sideline from researching new phones and laptops. Sparkly-eyed Tegan was unfazed with my knowledge, although did let the teasing end. Mr. O’Steal was suitably impressed, though, that I had gathered recent information that he had not.

“Well,” I mockingly admonished the skinny fellow, “while you spent time reading about banking crises and housing bubbles, uh, I researched useful facts.”

          “So, anyway,” metallic-grey eyes rolled, their owner finishing his beer and the conversation, “from a note magneted to his fridge, it looks like Fetch-Tom is probably going to a rave, or something, tomorrow. So, he’ll probably be out cold the next morning. I should be able to make the switch then.” He scooped up my Festiva’s keys and stood.

          Tegan Bramblerose reiterated that she had to get to work, selling timeshares to tourists, and stood to walk Wade as far as Las Vegas Blvd. Since it was still fairly early, I bid them both farewell, then went off to another casino and some poker winnings.

 

By the time that Twilight Tommy had finished his anecdote, Amaryllis had successfully maneuvered her pieces well into the center of the hexagonal game-board. The distractible sprite, clamped his mouth shut and rallied, a little. Tommy staved off Amaryllis for quite a few rounds, however inevitably lost the match, anyway. As usual, Twilight Tommy frowned at his defeat, yet the sheer thrill of competitive engagement far outweighed any desire to rail against the more tactically adept dryad.

          As Twilight Tommy reset the pieces to starting positions (losers do the “grunt” work), he pitched out another, in a series of, slightly probing questions, “So, Amy, I assume you like to garden, right?”

          “I’m not sure what you mean.” Amaryllis absently combed brown fingers through her multi-hued loops and waves of hair—creating the sound of leaves being raked.

          “Uh, well, um, like you know, uh like gardening.” Twilight Tommy liked to believe that he was getting better at talking to girls, especially the couple he spoke to frequently, yet Amy still made him mentally scramble sometimes with odd comments. “Like, um, planting seeds and, uh, making sure they grow… clearing away weeds and protecting them from pests.”

          “Oh, you mean farming.” Amaryllis bubbled enthusiastically.

          “Uh, well…” Twilight Tommy rubbed the back of his slender neck, “not exactly. Um, farming is, uh, more to grow lots of plants or animals for sustenance. But, um, gardening can be more for just a few edible plants, like carrots and peas, and stuff, or just for aesthetics, uh, like a bed of flowers.”

“Plants just grow, they don’t need to be tended.” Amaryllis giggled and shook her head. “And they especially do not need to be put in rows.”

          Twilight Tommy was sure that the leaves of the oak rustled outside in time to Amy’s head shake. The pointy-eared lad was also flummoxed, as he had been trying in vein to find some hobby or interest of the perky dryad’s, beyond weather talk. Gardening had seemed a sure bet for the climate and soil enthusiast. Tommy, however had to chalk it up to the growing list of disinterests—Including the sculpting, painting, reading, poetry, sports, food, and sewing. Even board-games were of little real interest to Amaryllis, beyond Tommy’s desire to have something to do while chatting. Also, Amaryllis could sew, embroider, and cook with methodical precision, she just had no great interest in the pursuits.

          Twilight Tommy merely sighed and played another round of Queen’s Guards. The lad could be just as methodic in his own ways and he had learned early on that Amaryllis answered more and more critically, when he would try and run through a list of potential subjects. So, Tommy mentally noted the “No gardening” reply and held music and dance for two later inquiries.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	6. Chapter 6

VI

The following evening, Twilight Tommy returned to the Tree-home via the Nevada Portal and heavily encumbered with more packages than was his normal want. The slim blond looked much like an ant plodding along below a significant chunk of purloined picnic cake, or possibly like a squirrel scurrying slower than usual while attempting to maneuver with a whole cob of corn within its overly ambitious jaws. Even so, Tommy felt no physical discomfort, thanks to judicious use of both his Summer’s Embrace and Might glamours. Although, the choleric sprite was feeling a twinge of guilt over yet again employing Summerfire’s secrets of increased strength and stamina in order to wrestle burdensome luggage, rather than grappling a worthy foe in glorious combat. Twilight Tommy generally considered himself more a tactical support sort of person on the few occasions actual physical violence had come up, yet he still occasionally sanitized about more hands on displays of prowess. Keeping himself from getting winded after shopping simply failed to honor Tommy’s daydreams or the personification of his choleric sensibilities.

          The oak’s clearing within the night-shrouded Wilder Woods, coiled below a purple-black sky. The inky autumnal infinity above was uncharacteristically clear, almost reflectively so—like a boundless sheet of the darkest stained class with little glittering metallic-mote imperfections. The stars seemed to be tittering and giggling as full Moon tickled them with Her light. Twilight Tommy would not allow himself to believe that the far distant revelers were showing off their capacity for delight. Instead, the nearly-as-illuminating sprite bent his will to the conviction that the stars were forcing and faking it, simply to try and make him jealous.

          So, rather than betray any emotion to the sky, Twilight Tommy looked to the ivy and grass below, through the mighty oak’s branches, as he wended his encumbered way to his upper-most room. Thus, Tommy was rewarded for his choice, with the sight of Amaryllis. The dryad stood resolutely near the far edge of the clearing, clad in her Roman legionnaire-style bark breastplate, pteruges, bracers, and grieves. Amy’s hair dark and colorless in the moonlight was tied back in a manner that produced the look of a long flowing Mohawk or horse’s mane. Tommy could just make out that the tree-spirit held a pale ceramic blade in each hand, as she seemed to be emphatically threatening a squat badger. It was Amy’s use of Tommy’s gifts, which raised a smile to his tapered face—even if the shapely lass was not employing them for cookery.

          After reaching the solace of his room, Twilight Tommy carefully lit his rarely used ceramic oil-lamp wall-sconces. Amaryllis had frowned when the light-sprite had insisted on the two small lamps. However Tommy had wanted them for just such an occasion as this. With so many new things to see acquisitive Tommy did not want to be limited to the black and white spectrum which his faery aura alone would provide.

          Twilight Tommy then unpacked his various objects. Rare bits of plastic were stowed securely in Tommy’s backpack, for later disposal, while pieces of paper and twine were folded neatly into a desk drawer for re-use. After a few more delaying tactics, the industrious elf spent several long minutes considering his indecorous room. Twilight Tommy knew that he had to call Amaryllis in, before he could proceed, however he stalled as long as he could so as not to interrupt her fun with the striped intruder.

          Amaryllis arrived, gliding through the wall as if it were smoke, only moments after Tommy had touch tan fingertips to the wall and called for her. The unruly red-orange-gold-yellow mass of thigh-length hair was again unfettered. Amy had also change back into her titillating bandeau and flamenco-skirt. The garments rustled gently in time to the dryad’s breathing, slightly more than in the past as they both contained much more brown and far less of the vibrant fiery colors which they once had.

          “If I had not known that winter is on the way,” round-faced rich-brown cheeks dimpled with teasing smile, “then I certainly would have guessed. Did you leave any nuts for any of the other squirrels, Tommy?”

          Twilight Tommy sighed and rolled his eyes, “It’s not like I’m hording anything here.” He resolutely refused to glance at the shelf which contained his five one-pound containers of Morton’s salt (for emergency cleansing or purification rituals). “I just like to have more visual stimulus than your other unimaginative tenants.”

          “If you say so.” Amaryllis replied in a tone which made it clear that she was humoring the youthful sprite.

          “Yes, um, well, I’m glad we agree, uh, then.” Twilight Tommy rubbed the back of his neck as he contended with his desire to achieve the completion of a few of his officially-annotated goals verses wanting to take umbrage at Amy’s attitude, with a mix of personal recrimination for his ums and uhs. ”So, anyway, is Sean Tallwind at home?”

          Amaryllis went blank-faced and statue-still for a second, then reverted to her typical vibrant self. “He’s a bundle of snoring wrinkles, on his bed.” She shook her head in mock dolefulness. “Snores like that may just tear his throat open again. Don’t be surprised if all my leaves have been shook to the ground by morning.” The dryad kept a straight face, although her lacquered-eyes twinkled mischievously.

          “Cool, cool… I’ll just get to him tomorrow then.” Twilight Tommy rubbed the back of his neck and squinted his fairly-golden eyes, uncomfortable with the next question that he needed to pose. “I, uh, also wanted to hang some of this stuff.” He gestured to the piles of recyclable canvass bags and cardboard boxes. “And, I can get wooden pegs, but I’m, not sure how to put them up without… um, hurting you?” Tommy assumed that any holes made in the tree-house would adversely effect Amaryllis, as she had alluded to as much. The lad was also still getting used to the peculiar etiquette of living inside someone.

          Amaryllis placed her hands on her oak-brown hips and her face took on a flat expression, which Tommy had come to understand meant that he had either said something too un-tree-like for her to make any sense of it, or he had clearly made some very norman-ish mistake. It turned out to be the latter.

“Well,” Amaryllis explained, “you know, I can just grow small branches or strong vines to hold your _decorations_ , right?’

          Tommy did not think “decorations” had needed the implied air-quotes, yet he still slapped his forehead with the obviousness of the tree-spirit’s statement. The elfin lad also worried, yet again, about the thought consuming niggler fish, effecting his mind. “Oh, duh! Of course you can… So, can we do that now? Or, do you need time to prepare, or something?”

          Amaryllis merely rolled her large glossy eyes and the two set about adorning Tommy’s room. As they worked, Twilight Tommy told Amy about the events of his day.

 

It felt like a red-letter day fir many of my housemates. First Gavin Granitbane and Iron Wade the Man of Steal followed through with a mutual interest which they had mentioned a couple of weeks earlier, involving the fighting pits of the Duchy d’Argent. Then Sean Tallwind actually attended the event, as well, after having kept himself cooped up at the oak without sign of ever planning to leave again.

          It had only been the day before that speed-of-rock Gavin had pitched his ridiculous “I had a mystery twin” idea and backed away from it, like every other potential opportunity to act on his own behalf. So, I was fairly stunned when the earthen chap and Iron Wade followed through with their plan. Of course, I would have preferred the duo to complete the car exchange which they had said they would do for me, first, however since Wade had already said that would take place tomorrow, I felt no need to mention it. Besides, I also felt some responsibility for the scarred fencer and orange muscleman’s d’Argent plan, as I doubted they would have built up the necessary motivation had they not been working towards my vehicular goal.

          I could only explain the Tallwind factor as cabin fever. Even though, it had only been barely a week since the long-fingered wrinkle’s return from the hospital. On the other hand, grouchy Sean had just removed his bandage, partially exposing an angry pink scar amidst the folds of his neck, so he may have also been celebrating his improving health.

          All around, though, I just tried to keep my mouth from falling open with wonder. Especially, to avoid making any snide comments which would almost certainly send any of them all scuttling back under their blankets of inertia.

 

“Is that a stabapple thorn?” Amaryllis cut into the conversation, pointing to the forearm-long dagger-shaped nut-brown object in Tommy’s hands.

          “Huh?” Twilight Tommy looked around, from where he had been trying to decide on a suitable display location, and then to the item and back to Amy, “Oh, uh, yeah.” He offered it—handle first—to the choleric dryad, for closer inspection. “It’s the one that I told you about, from when the rest of us all tracked down the Joey Owens boy. Iron Wade actually fashioned and affixed the pommel and guard.” Seeing Amy’s eyes narrow and mouth tense, Tommy hastened to add. “But he assured me that the wood came from a fallen tree-limb.”

          Relaxing, slightly, Amaryllis handed the stabapple-dagger back. Then nodded to the other weapon that she had spied in Tommy’s things. “What about that?”

          “Hmm? What, uh, the sawed-off baseball bat?” Twilight Tommy used the words to stall for time, but quickly concluded that he had to just come clean. “That was one of the clubs that the redcaps used.” He sighed and scratched the back of his right hand. “I don’t really know if the wood was live-harvested or not.” Although, Tommy strongly suspected that the people in charge of manufacturing Wilson sporting supplies, were probably more interested in the greater profit to be made from fresh milled lumber.

          “Hmm…” Amaryllis mused for several long moments. “I suppose allowances must be made for spoils reaped of fallen enemies. Especially, the more vile ones.”

          Rather than pressing his luck for more detailed parameters, Twilight Tommy continued talking about the day.

 

Anyway, I left my Dahon Speed-D7 at our haven to trudge through Red Rock Canyon, with those three grumblers. Although, to be fare, Mr. Granitbane did not grumble, so much as simply failed to be his normal unfoundedly upbeat self. I even attempted to get stone-muscled Gavin to carry my folding bike, since he always seemed so eager to perform physical labor for others, and so that I could use it in Vegas after their bout, or bouts (neither Gavin or Wade had been very clear about who was fighting or how often). The rough-hewn reddish ex-rescue-worker was too busy, with his own laborious mental preparations, to give into my cajoling, though.

          Primly appointed Tegan Bramblerose met the rest of us, as the bus let our quartet off in front of the Mirage. Whereas we four men were dressed for hiking and dust covered, Tegan was in a forest-green skirt-suit and white blouse which accentuated her creamy skin and made her tightly coifed auburn-hair seem to flare, as did her matching shoes. Uncharacteristically, for the tom-boyish beauty, she also wore jewelry; matching gold necklace and earrings of loose petal or teardrop shapes. At Sean Tallwind’s vaguely creepy comment of approval, Tegan explained that she had just come from duping a bunch of drunken dentists—in Vegas for a convention—into some timeshares.

          The five of us paid little attention to the mundane casino, as we passed into the dolphin and white tiger habitat. Thence, through the unassuming service door which led from the World to the Silver Duchy, nestled Inbetween. I was confident, that like its sister, d’Or, d’Argent had domestic spaces set out of the way for those spirit-touched whom had swore their loyalty to that place. However, I had only encountered the so-called public areas, of which easily three-quarters was dedicated to the fighting pits.

          The largest “pit” had been built up enough, with rings of seating, that it was better described as an arena. All the rest, though, were true pits, sunk into the harsh-parched Briar-desert earth. The pits came in a variety of depths, shapes, sizes, and ornamentations, however most were proportioned for two individuals to comfortably brutalize each other.

          At irregular intervals there were stairwells cut into the stone. The stairs provide access to an unnatural warren of tunnels. The subterranean passages were cooler, by ten or twenty degrees, than the desert above, although no less arid. The passageways all seemed to be fairly wide as well—the smallest that I saw would still have accommodated two full grown elephants walking side by side. Some of the halls even had clear or tinted windows which looked into a few of the fighting pits.

          Iron Wade the Man of Steal, in his ostensible position as Gavin Granitbane's fight manager, had apparently pre-scouted d’Argent. At least, the grimly sober gremlin moved with confidence, into the tunnels, and over to where various spirit-touched taunted and haggled with each other.

          Limping Sean, buxom Tegan, and I stayed back, while Iron Wade and Gavin went over to the score or so of tough looking fae. None of the three of us wanted to accidently get roped into a bout of any kind.

While our friendly slab of orangey rock-man stood flexing his rough-edged muscles, Wade negotiated a combat between Gavin and a fellow with spotted dog-like legs, ears, and muzzle, a generally mangy appearance, and a mad grin which gave him a distinctly jackal-y vibe. In less than ten minutes, Gavin and the jackal-beastling were signed up for a slot in one of the roomier fighting pits and waited to be ushered into the open area. Iron Wade collected the rest of us and we all headed up top, to find seats for the match.

“Phew! That Jules guy is rank,” our tall and dour companion shared, while the four of us found suitable viewing positions “I mean a truly fowl, unwashed, stench.” He pushed his scar-hashed palms forward, as if attempting to push the memory of his encounter away. “Plus, he’s seriously PSTD.”

I did not bother to point out the hypocrisy of the latter sentiment. Every changeling that has escaped the Folk and found their way back to the Real World, has displayed some form of trauma related malady or other, at least as far as I could tell. In fairness, after watching Jules fight, I realized that Iron Wade had been allowing for general spirit-touched psychoses and that the jackal-guy was an order of magnitude more unstable.

“Is Gavin going to be alright?” Tegan Bramblerose asked a little tensely, since she was the closest thing we had to a healer.

“Sure, sure,” the haggard gnarling waved a scar-covered hand dismissive of the supple redhead’s concern, “I made Jules agree to knock-out or surrender. No blood or death.”

I had been pleasantly surprised. I knew that neither bone-shattering Gavin nor the grey-eyed deadly swordsman had hesitated to kill redcaps or others. So, I would have bet that the duo would have preferred a more gruesome combat. Of course, this was my allies’ first attempt at fighting-for-profit and they might simply have been starting light, before Mr. Granitbane seriously tried to slaughter his way to the top of the gladiatorial heap.

The pit which my group over looked was like a large sunken swimming pool, or dolphin tank, although the floor seemed to be level and hard packed sand. The poured concrete walls extended only a couple of feet above spectator-ground level, making it easy for a viewer to potentially fall, or get pushed, into the pit. This particular pit had no seating around it, so my associates and I stood with the other audience members, around the rectangular hole.

The four of us chatted a little and gambled with our neighboring fight goers. This seemed to be a fairly amateur pit, so no-one had been looking for any large bets. Each of us also gathered whatever information we could about the fights in general, as well as Gavin’s opponent specifically. Collectively, my quartet discovered that Jules was fairly well known in the Silver Duchy, yet not well liked—tolerated seemed like a better description. Apparently, Jules’s unstable nature tended to give him an edge, through sheer unpredictability, however was usually more of a handicap against any seasoned opponent with steady nerves.

 

“You expect to hang _that_ from _my_ branches?!” Amaryllis had flipped from rapt interest in the gladiatorial tale to having jaw set and well-toned arms crossed firmly in front of her.

          Twilight Tommy had just unpacked his hardened Evo-Shield “breastplate” and motocross helmet, he looked dumbly at the items for a moment, before realizing the problem.” Ohh, uh, yeah right. I, um, forgot what they’re made of.” He set the plastic headgear back in the sack from which he had pulled it, then held the Evo-Shield for clearer display. “But, look, this is armor. I can’t just grow more protection, like you can. So, if the haven is ever attacked, I’ll need this handy…” He opened his pale whitish-orange eyes wide with partially sincere innocence. “Unless, you don’t want me to be safe, when I defend the oak?”

          Amaryllis did not crumble at Tommy’s pleading puppy-dog pout, although her resolute stance did soften. Thinking quickly, Twilight Tommy capitalized on the choleric dryad’s slight tell. “Look,” he flung open his wardrobe and rummaged within. “we can use these. And the plastic will never actually touch your branches.”

Tommy knew that he had a duplicate set of the protective gear in the back of his black Ford Festiva, so would not be overly put out if the wood-spirit forbade this set. However, the lad preferred over-preparation, if possible, and having the second suit of “armor” at the haven would make more threats easier to gear-up against more often. Therefore, Twilight Tommy pulled out a pair of plane-white 100%-cotton t-shirts. It was a production to strip to the waist, don a t-shirt, then the “body-armor”, then remove both at once, so that the Evo-Shield would be effectively lined in all-natural fibers. However, once done, the now wistfully smiling Amaryllis nodded her willingness to allow the presence of the plastic protection.

The second t-shirt was used to more rudimentarily line the biking helmet and Tommy continued his story.

 

The combat which had been taking place, while we awaited Granitbane v. Jules, was between a tawny lion-headed beastling (complete with dark-orange mane) and a muscular seven-foot-tall dude wielding a spiked chain. The conflict ended badly for Lion-o. The giant had gotten his chain wrapped around the leonine man’s throat and pulled, like a rip cord.

As chain-guy strode out and a couple of Duchy employees collected the lion’s head and man’s body from opposite corners, I nudged Wade, “You said Jules agreed to no blood, what about no weapons?”

          The leathery faced man blanched a little and tried to reply quiet enough to avoid Tegan’s attention. “It did not occur to me. He didn’t have any weapons that I could see, though.”

          “I’m _sure_ it’ll be fine.” Sean Tallwind’s rough voice drawled sarcastically, from Iron Wade’s other shoulder. “There’s practically no way he could have had his sword stowed away in a locker or corner or anythin’.”

          By then the pit had been cleared and the sand raked around enough to turn the pools of semi-feline blood into mere dark-red damp patches. Sturdy steel plates opened upwards—like garage doors—at either end of the rectangular pit. Gavin and Jules were announced as they entered the sandy arena, one from each door. My combative cohort still wore his steel-toed workman’s boots and jeans, but had stripped off his upper garments. The yellower thick-bands of “skin” stood out clearly on Gavin’s wrists and throat. Jules just wore the same cut-off denim shorts he had been wearing earlier. As soon as the doors slammed close again, the fight was on.

          Jackal-legged Jules must have employed a glamour of speed, or possibly Summer’s Might. Although, I found it hard to believe that Summerfire would share such powerful secrets with someone so unfocused. Regardless, the canoid lad closed with and struck the first blow, before I could blink. Luckily, my team’s statuesque-ish member had called on his own glamour—hardening his baked-clay skin to concrete-like grey-stone with steel bands.

Jules claws raked into Gavin's throat. A second earlier and the vicious blow might well have torn a chunk of yellow away--ending the fight and Gavin, no-blood-or-death agreement be damned. Instead the silvery collar-like neck was left with dry, ragged gouges. I was relieved after the fight, when the earthen fellow reverted to brick-red, that his wound was merely a bruise. Admittedly, part of my relief was that the terrifying fighter could be wounded.

          After Jules leap and rake, he sprang off his foe, and landed in a crouch, a few yards back. Gavin just stepped forward hard, as his beastling foe had been in mid-air, and full-on body-checked the dog-eared nut-case into the cement wall of the pit—which dazed Jules, to say the least.

          Wade had been next to me shouting to our rocky rooky-gladiator, something about holding back. However, the entire crowd around the lip of the pit was cheering or jeering, so I could not make out what the swordsman said any more clearly. Therefore, I was confident that Gavin could not hear raspy-voiced Wade at all.

Mr. Granitbane did not pause his momentum from the body slam, striding to the wobbly Jules. Then, followed through with a double-fisted slam to the floppy-eared head, before the manic-faced chap could rally. The mad-dog-beastling crumpled to the ground, twitching, and did not get up.

The rough-hewn fellow stood, ready for his opponent to leap up, for three or for heaving breaths, before the same faceless voice that had announced the match, declared Gavin Granitbane the winner. Duchy d’Argent employees entered from the opening steel doors and one of them splashed water on Jules, who groggily stumbled out of the little arena, with some employee support.

I had not noticed that Duke Yaya Ti had been watching the fight, until he through a pouch down to Gavin. The white-Rhakshasha-esque head of the Silver Duchy had been a ways off to my left and obscured by unnecessarily tall people, like Iron Wade the Man of Steal. I turned to one of my other neighbors, a devilish lad that had seemed to be something of a fight regular, “Is it normal for the Duke to attend such a low stakes fight?”

The athletically built candy-apple red lad had a ring of small horns around his bald head and was less than four feet tall. So, he craned his head as much as he could to try and spy Duke Yaya Ti. “No, not typical, but sometimes. Usually, if the Duke has heard some rumor or tale of one of the fighters.” He pointed to the rough-hewn grey-ish man collecting his prize and exiting the pit. “That must be the Granitbane that's been talked of recently.”

          While Sean, Wade, and I lingered to chat with the other spectators and settle-up bets, set jawed Tegan headed back into the tunnels with measured swiftness. In due course, we would all learn that the earnest beauty had been concerned for Gavin’s neck wound, which is also when I discovered that the earthen man reverted to his reddish-orange hue with only a nasty bruise. Which was exceptionally good, as the small first aid kit which Miss Bramblerose carried in her purse would have been useless against a gaping neck wound.

I assumed that military trained Tegan chose not to cast her minor healing glamour, in order to make Gavin think about the consequences of his actions, for a wile. For my part, I was simply encouraged that the living boulder’s brownish-green bruising verified that he was still human enough to have body fluids. Thus, if ever Gavin did turn on me, I might have a chance, assuming that I could get my hands on a sturdy enough weapon, of course.

          After the five of us reunited, we headed out of the Duchy and the Mirage. As I escorted my housemates back to the bus, we discussed the fight and our winnings. Grumpy Tallwind groused more than usual, as he had foolishly bet on the more experienced combatant (in spite of Jules’s obvious unkempt and crazy appearance). Tegan and I, on the other hand, smiled and were pleased to report having capitalized on Gavin’s two-to-one odds. Although, I privately felt silly for having not bet more. Then, we were all stunned when Iron Wade, supposedly Mr. Granitbane’s partner in the whole endeavor, admitted that he had not even considered placing any bets, beyond the one he had established with jackal-Jules.

The dry voiced man showed us an antique gold doubloon and a leathery pig (or possibly human) heart stuffed with nickels, as proof of success with Jules. Meanwhile, Gavin dumped the contents of Duke Yaya’s gift into the scratchy palm of one mighty hand. A decent sized pile of circular silver coins with hexagonal holes in their centers, glinted in the neon casino lighting.

Personally, I favored Duchy d’Or’s denominations of gold coins—Twenty-five, fifty, one-hundred, and five hundred dollars. Even so, I have also familiarized myself with d’Argent’s less rational silver coins—seven, fifteen, twenty-eight, thirty-six, and three-hundred twenty-four dollars. So, I nodded appreciatively, as I peered into Gavin’s palm, “If those are all the round ones, showing the phases of the moon, then they’re valued at twenty-eight bucks each.”

          “What’s with the serpent and spears, on the reverse side?” Iron Wade asked, while he and Gavin counted.

          “That’s the Red Court’s coat of arms.” Tegan confirmed. “The spears our because the Summer contingent is in charge, the dragon represents their King, Tamerlane.”

“Seventeen.” Gavin announced.

Wade nodded, “So, four-hundred and seventy-six bucks.”

          “Well, there you go.” I smiled broadly, “Even if Wade does keep failing to make additional bets, all you two have to do is keep impressing the Duke and you’ll be in moderate amounts of silver and all the nickels your hearts may desire.”

          Tegan snorted and Sean chuckled. Then those two and I rift on that theme for a while.

 

“And what is this supposed to be?” Amaryllis looked at the box that Tommy handed her as if she had just stepped in something smelly, damp, and sticky.

          “It’s one of the redcap’s hats.” Twilight Tommy beamed. “It’s even still a bit red in parts.” He pointed ineffectually to the container. “I found this gnarling wood-carver in the Pleasure Gardens of d’Or and he guarantied me that the wood was collected from dead-wood and the glass was hand blown. Plus, it’s air-tight, so even if the blood turns a bit more, no smell will get out.” Crystalline yellow-gold eyes sparkled at the dryad. “I was a little disappointed, at first, though. The crafter didn’t want any of the other caps in trade and the poem I wrote for him only got me, like a ten-percent discount.” Tommy flicked a slender dismissive hand. “It was worth it , though. I think it looks great.”

          Amaryllis turned the glass fronted shadow box this way and that to better see the rust-colored bill-fronted cap that was mounted within. “What’s the white stuff, on the bottom?”

          “Oh, you know,” Twilight Tommy sheepishly started looking for a good hanging place for the gruesome trophy, “it’s, um, salt… just in case. I figure that I’ll put a ring of salt on top, too, once it’s in position.”

          “Salt. Really.” The tree-spirit’s tone was flat.

“Uh,” after a moment, Tommy chose to take the tall brown lass’s words as questions, “yeah. Salts used in loads of purification and protection rituals.” He did not clarify that he was relying heavily on a single mundane source. “So, uh, I figure, if the hat still has any, um bad mojo, then the salt will help lock it in, or dissipate it, or something.”

          Amaryllis nodded in the slow way that meant she was accepting the information, not necessarily agreeing with it. Twilight Tommy resumed his tale.

 

To distract and deflect from the razzing being heaped upon Wade’s weathered and scarred shoulders, he launched into a sullen tirade. “Well, this wasn’t supposed to be about the money yet, anyway.” He jabbed an accusatory finger, scarred to the point of seeming to be wearing a lace glove, at grinning Gavin. “If you had just lost a few fights, then the odds makers would have made later betting for you more profitable, when you did start winning.”

          “Hey, dude,” Gavin raised his brick-hands defensively, “big money is in fighting the most popular fighters and they won’t fight me, if I can’t take out the small fries.”

The pair went back and forth like that for several minutes, to my, Sean, and Tegan’s amusement. The former professional fencer, presumably knowing more about competitive sports in general, insisted that Gavin should have, at least, drawn the fight out more. Theoretically, the more that Gavin looked weak and hard-pressed to win each fight, then he would still garner marginally higher odds. On the other hand, the generally jovial rock-elemental and one-time competitive bodybuilder clearly felt that Iron Wade’s methods would interfere with being recognized as the best.

I assumed that Miss Bramblerose and Mr. Tallwind stayed out of the argument for similar reasons to mine, primarily no real stake in either side. Even though, I was fascinated that Iron Wade was proposing acting one way now, in anticipation of changing in the future, to maximize a later benefit. It was the first time that any of my colleagues had indicated any real grasp of long term thinking. Although, I doubted the efficacy of the dour gremlin’s plan. Firstly, rock-headed Gavin had yet to show any abilities to deceive, let alone fake a fight. Secondly, I suspected that the Duchy employed spirit-touched with glamours to see through such ruses.

As the manager and fighter butted metaphoric heads, it became quickly obvious that the root problem was one of intent. Mr. Granitbane was a fight-for-fame type, while his increasingly frustrated ally was in it for the money. I wondered how long it would take Wade to conclude that he did not need Gavin and could simply go it alone with that saber of his and employ whatever strategies he liked.

Eventually, the ex-fencing professor grew exasperated once more and shifted the subject again. “No matter what, It doesn’t make sense for this fight. The way people were talking, it was like Gavin already had a reputation, somehow.” His metallic-eyes were perplexed, as he scratched an ear. “the other fights I watched had new guys that looked easily as tough and they got _way_ better than two-to-one.”

          I kept my face neutral and chose not to remind my temperamental sword-wielding cohort that I had been spreading news of all of our exploits, in order to reduce random violence against any of us. However, such thoughts also distracted me and stayed my tongue from once more underlining that since Iron Wade made no additional bets, then how much Gavin had been valued was moot.

          The public transport arrived to trundle my comrades back to Red Rock Canyon. Meanwhile, I had poker playing to do, followed by a lot of shopping, before I could catch my own much later bus home.

 

Twilight Tommy sat in the middle of his room, slowly spinning in his desk-chair, in order to survey the new decorations. Nothing needed any further adjustments, at this time. As more accessories arrived, adjustments would be made, until then Tommy smiled with pride of ownership.

          The redcap-shadowbox lurked in the upper corner of the south wall, on the narrow strip of wall just left of the large pane-glass window—one of the very few places in which no direct sunlight would ever fall on the contained hat. The stabapple-dagger rested on a pair of peg-branches within an open frame, above Tommy’s headboard—easily lifted free, even while lying in bed. The redcap “club” hung vertically, also easily lifted free, on the wall, just behind the door’s hinges—Anyone on the other side of the open doorway would not be able to see if Tommy was arming himself. Amaryllis had grown an upright branch that looked much like a hat-rack with a crossbar near the top, on which Twilight Tommy’s “Armor” rested—effectively looking as if an invisible man had donned the breastplate and helmet, to stand guard between the foot of the bed and the wardrobe.

For finishing touches, the shiny sprite had converted a couple of hundred dollars worth of his poker winnings into silver coins from d’Argent. The money-changers had threaded the hexagonally holed discs through leather cords and knotted them in even spacing. Twilight Tommy had employed several of the “belts” as bunting around his room. Amaryllis had rolled her eyes, yet had stayed her tongue at the silly lads aesthetic sense.

          Once satisfied with his room, Twilight Tommy returned to some of the remaining canvas sacks. “Um, and I also got you some things.” He held out the lightweight tissue wrapped object first, then the books.

          Amaryllis teased open the crinkly white tissue-paper and inspected the spectacles within, before accepting the books.

          Twilight Tommy kept speaking as Amy fiddled with the paper, glasses, and hardcovers. “So, yeah, the glasses are the same lenses that you said worked well for you. The same gnarling that made my shadowbox. I gave him a branch that I had found lying on the ground in the Wilder Woods, to fashion the new bridge and arms.” Seeing Amy’s uncertain look at the books, Tommy shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “You said that you weren’t into gardening. But, you talk about other trees, so I thought you might find those interesting.” He pointed to the book which the dryad was looking at. ”That one’s about various tree species. It’s all just mundane trees, but I figure that might seem exotic for you. The other one is just some general botany stuff…” Tommy did not explain that he had found the youngest reader versions that he could.

          “What’s botany?” Amaryllis, somewhat awkwardly because she still also held the glasses, shuffled the books around so that she could see the second selection.

          “Oh, um…” Twilight Tommy floundered—as usual, when Amy asked such questions—not wanting to sound condescending, while also desiring to answer the question clearly. “It’s, um, the study and care of plants, in a general sort of way. That book should contain an explanation… uh, near the front. Maybe, as part of the introduction.”

Seeing that the books were not as exciting for the tree-spirit as he had hoped, Twilight Tommy pointed to a couple of the other canvas bags. “I also got you a small bag of organic fertilizer and a small bag of cedar chips. To, maybe, help insulate against the winter?” Tommy regretted having only skimmed the botany book, before giving it to Amy. “If you like either, or both, I can get Gavin or Rai to lug in larger quantities… Um, I know they’re in plastic bags, but I promise that I’ll get rid of those, once you’ve decided how much you like the contents” He grinned hopefully, fully believing that if Amy would just sample the gardening supplies, then her vegetal nature would enjoy them, like candy or pastries..

“You think that I need to study plants?” Amaryllis remained focused on the books, her rich voice almost quavering with suppressed laughter, yet her sharp-dark eyes were narrowing.

“Huh, what?… Uh, no.” Twilight Tommy dodged the metaphoric curveball. “Like I said, um, I just thought that you’d find the normans’ take on the information interesting…” He rubbed his neck again. “Plus, um… I thought it might come in handy, if you got sick or something.” Tommy’s head was tilted such that he could only watch the well-formed wood-lady from one apprehensively squinting eye.

          Large glossy-umber eyes widened in shock and some worry.

“No, no.” Twilight Tommy waved both hands at Amy, as if trying to scrub the ideas from the air itself. “I just mean… Um, I mean, I hope that you don’t get sick. But, if you were to be wounded, or badly ill, than I would want to be able to help right away. And not make you have to explain how to help at that time.”

          “What do you mean _sick_?” the tree-girl asked, as if the word and concept were from a foreign language. “You mean from some poison you might bring from traveling to that other world?” She held her gifts at arms length and gawped at them in horror.

          “No! Absolutely not!” Twilight Tommy protested the implication hotly, waggling a slender finger at Amy, “But, you can’t tell me that bad things do not sometimes happen. Especially, here in the Wilder Woods. I mean, we even had to deal with that changeling-puppet-bastard, the other week. A very bad guy and he was in the Briar. And his touch alone caused plants to rot.” Tommy could see that the clever dryad remembered the part of the Child’s Rite adventure to which he was referring. “Besides, I imagine, sometimes force-of-nature things just happen.”

          “Hmph.” Amaryllis crossed her sculpted arms, unconsciously hugging the books to her ample chest. After a moments introspection, the tree-spirit conceded. “Well… I have heard of trees struck by lightning… and a mole might chew my roots.” She thought a little more then her eyes opened back to their natural optimistic state. “So, if something like that were to happen, flower-girl can heal me.”

“Well…” Twilight Tommy spoke as calmly as possible and rubbed his palms along his denim clad thighs, “Tegan’s healing magic has proven to have some significant limitations.”

“I suppose,” corners of plush bowed-lips sagged, “she is little more than a springtime blossom, right now, after all.”

Twilight Tommy nodded. ”Also, even if her glamour would work, what if she’s not nearby enough, to reach you, in time?”

          “Then you would need to find a stronger healer.” Implored Amaryllis melodically, her extra-liquidy eyes unfairly wide.

          “Yes, of course, “ Twilight Tommy was fairly quick to agree to whatever that endearing face wanted, “we did get that boon from Queen Glass and the Salamander Court isn’t really very far. So, we can probably get one of their healers out here, if we really need one.”

          In truth, Twilight Tommy’s primary intent with the books actually had been to open the discussion of health. Tommy was still attempting to define whether Amaryllis was once a mortal-human or only ever a fae-tree. The inquisitive lad had imagined that knowing to call an arborist or a physician would have resolved something more definitively in his mind. As usual, the solution of faery magic both cleared and muddied the situation.

          Which, inevitably, led Twilight Tommy’s inner wanderer once more to contemplations of an issue he had been researching. Tommy sighed resignedly, and asked Amy with no real expectation of getting a definitive answer, “So, do you think that we’re, um, immortal?”

          Amaryllis cocked her head to one side and smiled the smile that said that she thought Tommy was being ridiculous, yet she would humor him. “If you mean the two of us, then I’m only willing to test half of the options.”

Twilight Tommy barked a short laugh. “Ah, no. I mean, do you know if spirit-touched and the like are immortal?”

“Of course not, you goose.” Amaryllis shook her head a little and fluttered a hand towards Tommy. “You, yourself, have told me about seeing fae die… the lion-beastling in the pit earlier for one.”

Twilight Tommy had to pause long enough to compartmentalize that thought. The fact that he had not reacted more viscerally to watching a murder for sport, had just struck him hard, and needed to be set aside for later. After a few moments, The lad with the dark-orange eyes continued the line of discussion which he had opened, “Yes, okay, that is true. And that is death.” He rubbed his chin and cheek. “But, uh, our we like the ancient myths? Like Zeus and Thor and those stories. They were supposed to be immortal gods, but sometimes—at least, in some pantheons—they could be slain. So, if we’re not killed outright, do we age and get sick?”

          “Well…” Amaryllis saw that this was another of Tommy’s silly topics that seemed to matter to him, so she refrained from outright dismissal of the questions as pointless. “I think it’s more about where you live. The more time you spend in the unpleasant other world, the more it wears you out.” Since she had shifted her gifts to the crook of one arm, she held up a palm to stay Tommy’s objections. “I know you’ve said that it’s better for hiding from the Folk. And it has barely been any time at all. But, I am pretty sure, if you stay in the Briar you will be fine. While the more years, or whatever, that you waste in that place, does exactly that—it wastes you away.”

          Twilight Tommy let the subject go, uncertain if the earnest dryad was speaking sense, or just saying what she thought might convince him to stop leaving the tree-house. Amaryllis collected her various gifts and actually left via the door, as the bags and books could not simply phase into the solid tree.

          Tommy readied himself for sleep, while reflecting that enticing Amaryllis had most likely been both, speaking the truth as she saw it and trying to sway his interest n the mortal world. Yet, the distractible blond lad had once again resisted Amy’s various manipulations to pledge his intent to never leave. Tommy could only imagine that he had been able to deflect the sexy tree-spirit’s soulful gazes and promises of safety, because he had been spending so much time around Tegan Bramblerose’s enthralling aroma and Pashmi’s sultry charms, that he had become somewhat inured to impossibly attractive women's wiles.

By the time Twilight Tommy was snuggly under his comfy covers, he had mentally moved on. Tommy drifted off to slumber, listing all of the additional things of which he still needed to buy duplicates, so as to always have what he needed handy in Athens and Vegas. Which led to thoughts of triplicates and caches stashed in both cities…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	7. Chapter 7

VII

The pretty brown bunny scrabble-dashed through the, oh so, dark forest. The nasty grabby-changy thorns snatched and scratched at the young brown bunny, making her run more faster and more frantic.

          The blond bright boy watched from above the branches. The aloof bright boy could not reach the soft brown bunny and he wondered why he should want to.

Dawn started, once again, to creep into the crystalline-black of Moon’s domain.

          The lost little brown bunny sped into a clearing. A carrot grew in the clearing, pale and succulent. The pretty brown bunny was, ever so, hungry and she shuffle-scuttled towards the unattended carrot temptation.

          The distant bright boy watched below, yet wondered about Dawn. For Dawn was rising shinier than was Her expectation and from the north. The pale bright boy was sure that Dawn would be in trouble for not rising in the east. Plus, it was too early, as well, was it not? So, Moon was sure to retaliate.

          The pretty brown Bunny reached the lone carrot and sniffed for the best place to bight. The wild carrot’s greens struck first, lashing and grabbing the surprised brown bunny. The blond bright boy saw the wild carrot entangle and twist and stretch the pretty brown bunny’s body, even as she tried to chew her way free. But, the far-off bright boy had to look up and away, he needed to see what would happen to the reckless Dawn, more than he needed to watch the wild carrot and sweet brown bunny eat each other.

          The pale bright boy looked, only it was not Dawn at all. It was a terrible-feral rainbow. Upside-down the ferocious rainbow was smiling, its maw a rictus of many-colored fangs, rushing through the crystalline-black sky. The strange and scintillating monstrous mouth streaked straight for the blond bright boy above the branches.

“Oh, no,” the watchful bright boy thought, “had the pretty brown bunny been but a portent.”

          The shining-prismatic mile-wide rainbow-maw began to open. The once slick crystalline-black had turned to treacle and tar. The beset bright boy struggled to flee, the terrible-feral rainbow closed in…

 

A hard flat thing knocked the breath from Twilight Tommy’s narrow chest and forced him to wake with a gasp. There was no multi-hued gnashing teeth. The blow to Tommy’s chest had been something else. It took the luminous sprite a brief moment to brighten his faery aura and start to assess the situation.

          Twilight Tommy’s solarium-attic room was as warm and loamy fragrant as ever. The solid oak walls lit as much by Tommy’s dimly tuned faery aura as from the large southern window. Of the many things which Twilight Tommy’s senses swiftly processed, one was that the sky outside was blue and his room had no golden sunbeams creeping along its surfaces. Thus, the befuddled sprite realized woefully that he had been awoken during the pre-dawn light.

          Those realizations, along with most others, were pushed to the sides and back of Twilight Tommy’s mind, though. Instead, the bitter faced dryad loomed in the forefront of Tommy, both figuratively and literally. Amaryllis’s well muscled bark-colored torso stuck out of the wall above Tommy’s bed and thumped him, another time in the chest, with the horticulture book that he had handed her the night before.

“Amy?!... What’s wrong?” tan-brown fists rubbed the drowsy from Twilight Tommy’s amber-eyes, leaving only startled and bewildered. “Are we under attack?”

“How can you sleep, knowing what they’re doing?!” Amaryllis was livid, with sharply focused dark-lacquer eyes. The wood-spirit’s nostrils flared, while her grain-patterned cheeks and forehead appeared stained with a slightly darker wood polish.

“Um, who? Is Sean or Sol? Or Gav...” Twilight Tommy tried to think of which of his housemates was most likely to cause structural trouble for the tree-haven.

“These, _people_!” The angry tree lady held up the book and slapped its cover with her other firm palm. “These, so-called, tree scientists!” Another smack to the hardcover. “How dare they?! And, how can you condone them?!” Amy wacked Tommy in the shoulder with the book, hard enough to bruise the lads tan skin.

“Hey, ow!” Twilight Tommy was even more confused than hurt. “What are, uh, you talking about? I didn’t condone anything. I thought you’d be curious about other trees?” His clear voice found a pleading edge.

“Hah!” Amaryllis scoffed. “Did you even read this?” The offending tome was thrust within an inch of the elfin lad’s elegant nose.

Twilight Tommy squirmed a little, still effectively pinned back in his bed, and shrugged. “I, uh, I just sort of skimmed it… a little.”

“Well, what about this?” Amaryllis opened the volume to a section which had been marked with an ivy-leaf and handed it over to Tommy

The chapter in the guide to tree care was an abbreviated description of how to perform tree grafting, with a focus on producing seedless fruit. As Twilight Tommy read, he made every effort to consider the passage from a proud tree’s perspective. Meanwhile, Amaryllis moved into the center of the room, her multi-colored autumnal slit-skirt rustling like the pile of leaves that it was. The irked dryad wore her new reading glasses, on the tip of her button nose. Considering the early hour, Tummy did his best to ignore curvaceous Amy’s rarely seen leg, as it peeked in and out of the hip-high opening of the skirt.

          “Um, sorry, Amy.” Twilight Tommy said, when he was eventually able to form words, while laying the book strategically on his bed-covers. “I did not know that this was in here… If, uh, it helps any, trees in the Mortal World sometimes need special treatment, to be hearty enough.” He tried to be as apologetic as possible, for both himself and all tree-surgeons everywhere.

          “Hmph!” Amaryllis snatched the book and went to the little roll-top desk, where she located a pencil, then carefully wrote something in the open text.

          Twilight Tommy made use of the opportunity, of Amy’s averted attention, to adjust his blanket and his person into a more comfortable and polite position. However, the gem-eyed lad failed to ignore the woodland woman’s backside, bent pertly towards him as she leaned forward to write—toned legs and buttocks stretching the leafy skirt to smooth and form fitting, near bursting.

When Amaryllis finished, she turned to Tommy and held the defaced pages open wide “WARNING”—scrawled, large enough to fill the whole first page of the offending chapter. The long-haired dryad snapped, a little less curtly, “Things like this, should not be just sprung on people.”

          Twilight Tommy first found that he actually felt a little bad that he did not have a red pencil or pen for the upset young lady. Then the luminous lad realized that the whole encounter was ridiculous and charming. Although, Tommy had woke up enough to also understand that it would be unwise to chuckle or smile, in light of Amy’s mood. Tommy merely reiterated his earlier assurances that he had not been aware of the content’s presence, nor had he meant for Amy to be upset.

          Amaryllis tentatively accepted the innocent looking sprite’s words and left with the book.

          Twilight Tommy shook his head and considered the possibility of getting more sleep. Then, Tommy got up and collected together his clothes for the day. At least, this early in the morning, the shower was guarantied to be unoccupied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	8. Chapter 8

VIII

In spite of his unnecessarily early wake-up, Twilight Tommy looked forward to the coming day, with only minor trepidation regarding the last gift he had schlepped in the night before. Luckily, by the time the blond lad had finished his shower and passed through the communal living areas of the tree-house, he saw that Sean Tallwind was awake and sitting down to breakfast. So, Tommy did not need to delay any longer and trotted up to his room and retrieved the package which he had purchased for Sean.

               Twilight Tommy was not very comfortable giving gifts, even under ideal circumstances. The preceding few weeks with Amaryllis had not been helpful conditioning, as the dryad’s responses tended to be defensive and judgy. Additionally the idea of attempting to interact with sour-puss Sean, especially on a thoughtful level, boded ill in Tommy’s head. So, the actual exchange came as a pleasant surprise.

               Sean Tallwind and hirsute Freerunner were the only two other house members up at that early hour. Amaryllis was presumably still awake, however off elsewhere in the haven. The two men sat several chairs apart at the massive oval dining table, leaving plenty of space for Twilight Tommy to set down his present, next to the sallow wrinkled fellow.

               The package was a plane white box, commonly used for wrapping clothing such as high-end dress-shirts. Although, the gift thumped onto the thick wooden table in a manner that made it clear that its contents were much weightier than normal clothing.

               “What’s that?” Tallwind grumped, without looking up from his bowl of cereal.

               Twilight Tommy replied, as he stepped over to the kitchen end of the room and prepared his own bowl of dryad-made granola and nut-milk. “It’s a sort of thanks for the nice bracers that you made me.” He shrugged. “You didn’t strike me as someone that would want a poem and I don’t make anything else, very well. So, I got you that.”

               When Tommy had no more to add, Sean Tallwind reached out his distorted hands and opened the box, then lifted the black bundle from within. After only a moments inspection, Sean identified the garment. “A Kevlar vest?”

    “Not just any Kevlar vest.” Twilight Tommy nodded as he set his breakfast down at a position equidistant from the two other men. “That’s an Ultra Light, Protector Plus, Concealable, Level IIIA Vest.” He smiled with pride.

Freerunner looked up from where he hunched over his wooden bowl, yet said nothing. The whisker-faced fellow seemed to understand the bullet proof vest, however not the brand.

On the other hand, Sean Tallwind nodded appreciation and more so as he perused the specification paperwork that came with the armor. The burn-scarred chap still asked, although less gruffly than usual, “So, why this?”

     “I figured,” Twilight Tommy paid more attention to his food than either dining companion, “since you armored the rest of us, you should get some too.” One slender shoulder raised and lowered. “I know you said that you don’t plan to get caught in any more fights, but you never really know, right. ‘Specially, since you don’t always get to plan for when a fight is about to happen.”

Sean Tallwind grumbled acceptance of the logic and the gift. Nothing more was said during the meal and Twilight Tommy counted the exchange as a win. The three men each went their solo ways into the day, before any of their haven-mates arose.

               Twilight Tommy returned once more in the late night hours. It had been another fine day for the fair-haired fellow, not least of which was that once through the darkly whispering Wilder Woods, the above hung thick and low with a charcoal-colored blanket of cloud. As much as Tommy felt the cloud to be sinister, he also appreciated that it effectively (possibly even with intent) blocked all view or vision of any of the smug Briar-stars. An acceptable trade to Tommy’s mind, even though the cost seemed to be a clinging dampness and more tangibly menacing shadows on the journey back from Athens Ohio.

               It helped Twilight Tommy’s mood much further that his trek had not been alone through the Twisting Thorns. In what had become a rarer event of late, Tegan Bramblerose had been traveling in the same direction at the same time. Thus, Tommy was able to follow the glamour guided steps and shapely backside of the auburn-haired lass. The additional presence of the grim-faced Iron Wade and gravel-head Gavin Granitbane had even been mitigated, somewhat, by their value as potential bodyguards on the hike. Tommy had yet to be ambushed in the Thorn Maze, however the sporadic slithering or creaking noises and the occasional whiffs of musk in the air kept the sprite well aware of the potential threats.

               Once all four companions were safely within their shared haven-home, though, each veritably scattered for their own private rooms. Twilight Tommy’s giddiness was such that he barely even minded the clear implication that all three of his allies were fed-up with his chatting. Few other people that Tommy had ever met could quite maintain the sustained level of interest that he could when it came to hashing and rehashing details about cars, especially muscle-cars. Besides, the luminous sprite, told himself, he hardly ever talked about his interests and often listened to theirs, so it was fine that the tables had been turned for a change.

Twilight Tommy also took some pleasure in the knowledge that he could now share his day’s news with the fresh audience of Amy. Thus, once back in his room, Tommy did not even spend any time changing into his red-flannel pajamas, as he normally would. Instead, the lad with the mostly-yellow glittering eyes invited his dryad cohort to his room for a warm beverage nightcap.

Seeing Tommy’s eagerness, Amaryllis was amiable to hear the lads news. However, the tree care-taker had already learned that tea and coffee both made the light-sprite more intense and he clearly did not need that at the moment. So, after growing the small table-branch, Amaryllis set upon it a small tray with two mugs of hot chocolate. Amy even provided a small pitcher of nut-milk and a bowl of sugar, since the light-sprite had complained the last time that her chocolate was too bitter—even though it had been the only way she had ever known it to be prepared.

As Twilight Tommy doctored his mug of dark-dark chocolaty water, he launched into his tale.

 

Iron Wade the Man of Steal and Gavin Granitbane made good their word to switch my vehicular possession. The reddish-orange muscleman probably did not really need to tag along, however I suspected that he was still full of his win at the Silver Duchy and was therefore hoping—more than usual—that Fetch-Tom or his cronies would show up and make a scene which would require brick-like fists to resolve.

As it turned out, though, by 11:00 am, I was standing in the driveway of our rental-place with the sneaky Mr. Steal and rocky Mr. Granitbane, admiring my newly liberated 2010 blue Mustang GT convertible with spinning rims.

          “It was as easy as expected.” Wade bragged a little, as I circled the car inspecting it. “I knew from the past week’s surveillance that Fetch-Tom would be asleep until at least noon. I parked the Festiva right next to the Mustang. Then, used the muscle-car’s spare keys to remote unlock it. Then we,” he nodded to Gavin, “left the Festiva’s doors unlocked and those keys in the visor. Gavin and I slipped into the Mustang and here we are.” He spread his hash-lined hands to display the truth of his words.

          “I don’t mind telling you,” the larcenous fencer confided with a glint of avarice in his slightly-metallic eyes, “I was tempted to just keep driving to Vegas, or tell you I had flipped it, or something, just to have more time behind that wheel.“

         I certainly understood Iron Wade’s impulse, the shiny muscle-car was very fine. The vehicle even had a nitrous injection system set up. On the other hand, when I got down to really scouring every inch, inside and out, my Mustang turned up several pot-pipes, clips, rolling-papers, and the like. No actual, identifiable, drugs were present, at least. Although, there was an old cigar box, marked “BATH SALTS”, in the trunk and the crystals within the box looked more like drugs than beauty supplies. Wade became less and less enamored with the idea of driving off with my car, as I produced each new piece of incriminating paraphernalia.

Most importantly, I found the title, registration, and proof of insurance in the glove box, right were I would have kept them. Although, I preferred to keep mine in a Zip-Lock bag to protect against any grease or spills.

          After I got a new Zip-Lock for the paperwork, I stashed all of the drug related crap in our garage’s rafters. I had stashed my air-mattress and all of the rest of my stuff from the Festiva up there, before Wade had driven it away. I had plans for the Mustang that precluded packing it with my gear, so I left it where it was. I was not sure about the drug stuff, although I suspected that I would find some fae or other in Las Vegas with which to trade the items.

          By then, Wade and even Gavin had grown bored with my antics and wandered off. Thankfully, leaving me free to drive off alone, smiling uncontrollably, in my new v8 muscle-machine.

          My intent was to familiarize myself with the Mustang as quickly as possible, hopefully discovering any significant idiosyncrasies. In the first ten or fifteen minutes the thrill of the roaring engine started to metamorphose into a deep appreciation for the sleek Ford craftsmanship. After a few hours, I found myself loath to part with the vehicle. The affection was enhance by my knowledge that by driving the Mustang I was directly preventing my shadow-eater double from experiencing its pleasures.

Even so, I stuck to my guns. Over the past week, I had thought up a part-two to my car swap plan. One that would make me less of a suspect or target with anything Fetch-Tom related. Finding the drug-related garbage had only helped to strengthen my resolve.

Thus, when I felt like I could really handle the Mustang, I called Iron Wade. After polite greetings, I asked the raspy voiced grease-monkey, “So, you mentioned a couple of times that the Jiffy Lube, where you work, gets a lot of muscle-car racer dudes, right?”

          “ _Yeah_ ,” the wary haggard man drew out the word, a little, as he tried to guess my reason for asking, “you looking to make some money with the new car, or do you plan to wreck it to spite Fetch-Tom?”

          “Kind of neither,” I grinned into my reply, ”but kind of both. If you could find out the regular race spots for me, it would help. The thing is, Fetch-Tom still has some claim to this vehicle and I’d like to swap it for something as good. And in a way that he can’t easily reclaim it.”

          Iron Wade approved of my desire to get rid of the semi-illicit vehicle, especially in a quasi-legal manner. The Man of Steal called me an hour or so later with a couple of locations to try. I had been familiar with both spots, from my human days in Athens, the street racers had not moved. I probably should have just checked the locations first, however I liked getting my comrades to do things for me, without any official reciprocation needed.

Unfortunately, as useful as the phone call had been, the fact that it worked also meant that Mr. O’Steal had not returned to the between Maze. Further more, the scarred-gremlin had been hanging around with Tegan Bramblerose and Gavin Granitbane and they all decided that they wanted to come with me. Looking back on it, I am honestly not completely sure why I agreed to pick them all up, though. I mean, I was certainly keen to show-off the car and my skills driving it, but they could have gotten a bus or taxi ride to the unofficial drag-strip.

As it was, Wade and Gavin (both easily a head taller than me) added a lot of extra weight to the Mustang—especially, thanks to Mr. Granitbane’s stone-dense skin, plus I suspected that Iron Wade’s bones may be more akin to metal. Then, the thinner haggard looking one called shotgun, so the wall-like elemental grumped most of the ride about having too little leg room. From my perspective, Gavin was in the confined back-seat with the luscious and floral Tegan, so I felt very strongly that he should have just counted his blessing, rather than whine about his proportions.

          My mood kept getting muddled at the race area, as well. When I had been mortal, I had been more interested in legitimate and organized racing, Formula One in particular. So, even though I had heard about the amateur thrill-racers, I had never really checked into it. Thus, going with the Mustang was an intriguing look into another aspect of my favorite hobby.

On the other hand, the more I tried to immerse myself in the experience, the more it reminded me of the times before I had been changed. Times that I could never recapture. Plus, the longer that I lingered and watched the racing, the more I had to fend off loser-dudes approaching me and asking if I “was holding”. So, clearly Fetch-Tom’s face was known to that crowd, which only helped to sour my mood further. Although, none of the would-be drug buyers called me by name, so the small kindness seemed to be that the shadow-eater of my life probably was not a regular there.

I should admit that my three allies were of help to me. Gregarious Gavin made acquaintances naturally and that made approaching potential marks easier. Iron Wade’s sportsman’s eye helped identify likely sharps to be avoided. Tegan Bramblerose relied on her military Training and feminine intuition to help identify the weakest willed of the other racers. Thus, it was fairly short work of picking a norman that would race me for titles, without much fuss or posturing over my relatively new-guy status.

My intended pigeon was a thick-necked jock, in a Cleveland Browns cap, driving a vintage orange Camero IROC-Z. Browns-fan agreed quickly to a single drag for titles, instead of the more common best--two-out-of-three. I suspected that alluring Tegan’s presence helped the deal, as Brown’s-fan most likely wanted to impress her. Regardless, I was the one that felt the reassuring delicate _thwang-thrum_ of a short-term and simple bargain made, overlay my already pumping adrenalin.

My plan had been to win the jock’s car, then sell him Fetch-Tom’s Mustang for a couple of grand. Then, I would have probably raced someone else to get out of the orange Chevy. Mostly because I preferred Fords. Although, that is really out of a nostalgic loyalty to my old Ford-dealer buddy, Jack’s Schmidt, more than any other reason.

What happened, however, was that Browns-fan and I tied. If there had been a photo finish, I am sure that I won, yet illegal street-racing had never been set up for the precision of a photo finish. Instead, the races had popular regulars, like Browns-fan, and were judged by other regulars. Plus, I had been so caught up in the excitement of the event, that I had forgotten to employ my glamours of fortune manipulation.

When I met Browns-fan afterwards, I was mentally gearing up to argue him into another race. By then it was getting late and hooking another pigeon was not very likely. As it turned out, the jock was pretty bored with his Chevy and was willing to just swap cars outright. So, we signed over each others titles (claiming the time honored value of one-dollar on each “sale”).

I drove the Camero away, not so much pouting, as simply thoughtfully disappointed in having not capitalized more monetarily. It was all for the best though, as I decided that my irritation at the drug-seekers had probably been a key distraction to my winning. Plus, if I had stayed and tried to race more, I would have suffered from a lack of familiarity with the IROX-Z. Also, the rumble of the orange car’s eight churning pistons sent a vibration up my spine, as soothing as the Mustang’s had. As another small bonus, Gavin called shotgun for the trip back, so there was noticeably less pouting.

Once I was able to push the missed opportunities of my race to the back of my mind, I considered calling the police to tip them off about Fetch-Tom now being in possession of the Festiva which they had on video from the O’Malley’s Massacre. I liked the idea of making the shadow-eater’s life as uncomfortable as possible. However, since it was also technically my life, I did not want to give it any more legal strikes than may have already occurred in my seven years away. Plus, I do not use the phone while driving and I really did not want to stop driving my 1988 Camero long enough to make the anonymous tip.

          Even though, the night had not gone as smoothly as I had envisioned, I was as jazzed as I had been in a long time. Possibly even longer than sometime back when I was just human. So, I could not help but to relive the evening and especially all of the very cool muscle-machines that I had seen. None of my comrades really knew enough about cars to keep up their side of the discussion, which was okay though, since I had enough to talk about all the way back to Ariadne’s Freehold and then most of the way through the Briar.

 

Twilight Tommy yawned widely behind his knuckles. “Well, uh, I guess it must be later than I thought.”

          “Perhaps,” Amaryllis smiled at the silly lad and the effect of the sugar rush fading from his system, “you exerted yourself more than you realized.”

          “Hm?” Twilight Tommy glanced up blearily as he set his mostly empty coco mug on the tray. “Maybe… Uh, was, um, was there anything you wanted to talk about, though.”

          “No, not currently.” Amaryllis raised up and helped guide Tommy to his bed. The dryad removed the light-sprites foolishly heavy boots, un-grew the table and chocolate service, then left the snoring lad in peace. Tommy would simply have to deal with unfastening his pants, or struggling out of his shirt, when he inevitably woke from discomfort, in the wee hours.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	9. Chapter 9

IX

The following day was full of inky clouds and booming thunders over the Wilder Woods. Biting sheets of sleeting rain sliced through the foliage. Even with Twilight Tommy’s Summer’s Embrace to protect against the bitter cold, the physical precipitation still stung, as he made his way to or from his “attic” room. Tommy had asked Amy about forming a covered passage and learned that more of the personal-deeper-than-wyrd energy would have been required. That, in turn, would have called for all of the other haven residents to contribute, which was a wrangling that the elfin lad shied away from undertaken. Until, of course, the weather got this nasty. Unfortunately, to enact the ritual the group would most likely need to sit outside, so it really was something that needed to be address when the weather was nice—and, therefore, easier to ignore the need for cover.

          Normally with the sky so fowl, Twilight Tommy—and a fair number of his housemates—would nip off to Nevada. In this case, the gloom was so oppressive that the blond lad could only imagine staying in and writing, or curling up with some of Amy’s hot mulled-cider. However, writing in his storm-darkened room (shadowy even with his luminous faery aura) remained entertaining for only so long. Thus, the slender sprite had hunched his way through the sturdy branches and stinging sleet, to spend some time in the cozy common rooms of the haven.

          The living room was as warm as ever, in spite of the cathedral ceiling and lack of fireplace or central-heating. Twilight Tommy’s shoulders visibly relaxed, as he took a deep breath, upon entering. The haven’s normal loamy scent was overshadowed with the smell of fresh-roasted nuts—acorns was Tommy’s guess. Tommy also saw that most of his colleagues had the same impulse as himself.

Stoic and languid Raion-ju had his powerful legs tucked beneath himself, taking up his favored sofa. The large cat-man had a proportionally large ceramic mug of steaming orange-brown liquid next to him, while he seemed to be reading some sort of technical manual or text book. Fuzzy Freerunner and haggard Sean Tallwind sat across from each other, each hunched over a chess-board. All the while, Gavin Granitbane stood in his usual position, central to traffic flow, yet off to the side of both living and dining rooms. As was typical, Gavin slowly shifted and adjusted his stance, effectively posing to show off his muscles, while trying to not be too obvious about it.

          After Twilight Tommy poured himself some of the spiced-cider, which he had found on the ceramic stovetop, he selected one of the stuffed deerskin chairs. No sooner had the elfin sprite gotten comfortable, than the precipitation outside ceased. The clouds remained dark and the thunder still rolled audibly in the distance, though.

Scowling at the window, Tommy’s first thought was that, had he waited only five minutes longer, then he would have remained dry on his trip from bed to living room. Then, the pointy-eared lad remembered the Briar’s nature and decided that the sky would have poured for days, simply waiting for the chance to soak him.

Twilight Tommy shook his head ruefully, turning his attention to his housemates, “Any news?”

All were shrugs. Except Raion-ju, who seemed deaf to the question. Although, Gavin Granitbane did add, “Not much, really. Tegan and Wade are in Vegas.” He rubbed his chin, making the sound of a large rock being dragged over gravel. “Something about that gold coin we won off of the dog guy.”

          “What about the other one?” Twilight Tommy did not really care, it was simply that his mood was such that the idle conversation seemed better than none.

          “Who do you mean?” Gavin Granitbane asked. Even as Sean Tallwind croaked, “You mean Sol?”

          Twilight Tommy nodded affirmation, without conviction. Although, the amber-eyed lad was somewhat heartened that Gavin had forgotten the most selfish member of their haven’s collective. At least, until Sean had said her name, then the earthen fellow’s blue-marble eyes widened with recognition.

Amaryllis stuck/formed her head and shoulders from the all between the dining area and Living room. “Dark Sol has been by several times recently. She never says much, though, and usually only stays long enough to sleep, eat, something, and leave again.”

Twilight Tommy opened his mouth, to say something snide about the eerie vitalityleech’s attitude towards all of them, when the trapdoor at the foot of the spiral-stairs opened. Tegan Bramblerose’s dark-red locks preceded the rest of her, up from below, and Iron Wade the Man of Steal followed behind. The metal-grey eyed fellow looked even more dour than usual, while elfin Tegan almost shone with delight.

As Tegan Bramblerose moved over to a vacant seat, she politely asked Amaryllis for a glass of cider. Meanwhile, Iron Wade took up position near Gavin, handing the orange fellow a small leather pouch, Here, this is your half of the gold coin.”

While the brick-ish chap poured and counted tinkling coins, in one enormous palm, Sean Tallwind glanced betwixt the Tegan’s mischievous smile and Iron Wade’s grim-set jaw, “So, what’s up?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” Iron Wade said too quickly and too flatly.

Tegan Bramblerose barked a short laugh, that was more like a bell-ring than a dog’s noise. “I don’t know why he even asked me to go along.” She sat on the edge of her wooden chair, occasionally jiggling pleasantly with suppressed amusement. “He said that he thought that I might be able to get a better deal for him.”

Whisker-faced Freerunner moved one of his pale-wood knights and then had to curl-lean his svelt frame most of the way around, to be able to address Tegan more directly, “So, errm he what, rrrg wanted you to urmph use yourrrr glamourrrrghs on anothererer fae, within urm that court?”

Twilight Tommy silently agreed with the tone of foreboding bubbling within ‘Runner’s gargles.

“What difference would it make!” Iron Wade snapped, still standing near Gavin, at the foot of the spiral-stairs, which lead up and out to the branches laden with the various personal quarters. Mr. Steal pouted at Tegan’s amusement.

Sean Tallwind answered in his equally gruff manner. “Well, if they detected what she’s doin’,” he sipped warm spiced cider from a wooden goblet, “then they’re likely to react badly to tryin’ to be swindled. And they have that whole court to back ‘em up.”

Twilight Tommy and Freerunner both nodded. Tommy grudgingly admitted to himself that even if Sean looked like a half full bag of old skin and seemed to talk more than he acted, the gnarling was not always wrong.

“Hmph,” the swordsman waved his heavily scarred hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter anyway, since she didn’t need to do anything.”

Miss Bramblerose stifled another titter of glee and her emerald eyes sparkled, effectively drawing the room’s attention back to her. “You’ve seen d’Argent, right?” Glossy burgundy-colored lips sipped from the mug which Amy had carried over, seeing Rai and Amy’s bemusement, she clarified, “There’s this sort of main-row of booths. About five or six of them are where you can place bets on fights, or you can exchange money.” She nodded rich-red tresses at the mildly embarrassed Iron Wade the Man of Steal. “He just went right up to the first booth, showed the coin, and took the guy’s first offer.” Tegan shook her head and smiled with all of her pearly teeth.

“So,” Gavin Granitbane looked to Wade, while re-bagging the coins that he had just finished counting, “you just got two-hundred?”

“No.” Mr. the Man of Steal could barely contain his raspy exasperation. “Like I told you, that’s your _half_.”

“Hold on.” Twilight Tommy raised a slender-fingered hand. “You took that gold coin from the Jules character? The probably authentic, antique, Spanish doubloon. And, what? Just took four-hundred bucks for it? From a retailer? Without researching its value, or haggling? Even a little?” Tommy also thought the fifty-fifty split was ludicrous, but did not care enough to try and educate Gavin about standards of management getting only ten to twenty percent.

The fencer turned oil-change lacky threw up his hash-marked hands and stomped up the stairs and away to his room. A strong gusting wind had arisen in the wake of the storm and contributed extra emphasis to the trap-door closing behind the dour-gnarling.

Twilight Tommy lost track of the conversation for a while after that. The illuminated sprite was befuddled and somewhat fraught. Between Iron Wade’s failure to understand basic bartering, Gavin Granitbane’s unusual theories about odds making and fighting, Tegan Bramblerose’s having gone home with a vampire once, and—the granddaddy of them all—Sean Tallwind having refused the payment offered for the Kendal contract which they had all “completed”, Tommy wondered if his gang was cursed with selective stupidity. Or, possibly some of the others were more insane, more often, than could easily be discerned. Or, maybe, the thought-eating invisible nigglers were swarming the group. And, did all of that lead to the detached killiness which so many of them had displayed? At the very least, Twilight Tommy felt that he was cursed with the rest of the oak-haven’s residents.

Worse still, Tommy had to acknowledge to himself, as he returned through the windy-gloom to his room, that he had to include one of his own foolish moments in the tally. For, even though gaining the magic silver-filigreed hand-mirror had been worth it in the long run, snatching it from its nest within the strange Briar-flowers had proved to be a lapse of judgment. Tommy mostly assuaged himself with the knowledge that he had learned from his mistakes.

Although, the sprites gem-eyes remained haunted and his full-lips pursed. The suspicion that none of Tommy’s comrades had learned from their errors, still tickled at the back of his mind. Especially, the part that suggested that such accumulated slips, led to more and more monstrous behaviors.

          Twilight Tommy forced such depressing contemplations away, with more writing. Composing poems of hot summer days and overcoming challenges (such as winning Formula-One races), always helped Tommy to stop thinking about his troubling associates. Every so often, though, the large-eyed lad would review his journals and daily notes, just to keep from slipping too far away from realistic thinking.

Eventually a knock came to his room’s door and Amaryllis let herself in before the elfin occupant was able to rise from his chair. The statuesque dryad carried one of the recycled hemp grocery bags that Tommy had given her the night before—hence her need to use the door. Amaryllis plopped the heavy sack on the Light-sprite’s lap, without malice. Twilight Tommy could tell from feel and smell the ten-pound bag of fertilizer was open within the grocery bag. Though, very little, if any of the organic manure had been used.

“ _That,_ is dangerously intense.” Amaryllis, poked the bag against Tommy’s chest. “The terrible place, that comes from, must have no live soil at all, for the plants there to need such a…” She searched for a clinical word. “Such a supplement.”

Twilight Tommy pouted ample lips, surprised at how bad he felt that his guess about the treat being wrong. “So, it’s no good to you at all?”

“If I spread that on the ground here.” Amaryllis shook her wild flame-colored hair to the accompaniment of rustling leaf and branch sounds, “it would burn my roots.” She then explained about nitrate levels and other soily things for close to ten minutes.

Twilight Tommy nodded appreciatively, throughout the lecture. When Amy seemed to have said all she intended to, Tommy tentatively asked, “Um, how about the cedar chips? Are they of any use?”

“I do not yet know” Amaryllis replied bluntly. “I was going to open them next. But , I did not want to delay returning that.” She pointed accusingly once more to the fertilizer. Then the resolute dryad simply sank into the floor.

After a moment’s thought, Tommy lugged the bag of topsoil down into the oak’s truck/recreation room/back doorway. The blond lad left the parcel next to the Red Rock portal-way. Tommy wanted to remove the offending substance as soon as possible, yet also did not want to have to make multiple trips. So, the methodic sprite went up the stairs and out into the Briar-clearing to get Amy’s first impressions of the cedar chips.

Twilight Tommy’s gut sank as he walked, though. Realizing only then that the cedar had probably not been dead-harvested and that the tree-spirit was almost assuredly going to find that upsetting. Tommy knew all too well that his ignorance of where wood had come from was not an acceptable excuse.

Amaryllis knelt a pace or two from the oak’s trunk, when Tommy arrived, in the moist ivy which surrounded most of the tree. The lithe lass was swaying slightly over the open bag and a small pile of cedar shaving, appearing somehow younger and more delicate than usual. When Amy looked up at Twilight Tommy’s approach, he saw deep glossy-brown eyes made even shinier with tears which would not quite fall.

Crouching down, beside the unexpectedly waifish girl, Tommy spoke gently, “Hey, Amy, what’s going on?”

“It… It’s the smell.” The suddenly cherubic girl’s voice also had a childlike quality. “It’s the smell of the comfy box.” Amy’s resonant voice was both thicker and higher than usual.

“Comfy box?” Twilight Tommy calmly indicated his need for clarification, yet was horrified that Amy might be referring to some torcher device which her Keeper or a previous tenant had employed.

“Yeah, the comfy….” Amaryllis sniffled a little and continued to watch the unmoving mulch, although still seemed determined to hold the tears at bay. “’Twas the big down blanky, for in winter.” Even though she was perched as if resting on her heels (unseen in the ivy-covered ground), she held her knees firmly with each hand. “Grams kept it in the box. The one at the foot of the bed.” The memory seemed to be simultaneously pleasant and full of heartache.

          Twilight Tommy placed an arm around the girl’s toned shoulders and gave her a side-hug. The inquisitive lad wanted to press for more details, yet feared that he would say something that really would make Amy cry. So, the pair simply rocked on their heels for a few minutes. Then, Amaryllis kissed the pretty lad’s berry-brown cheek and got up.

Amy closed up the bag and, clutching it to her bosom, walked up the spiral stairs, around the oak’s trunk.

          The encounter finally convinced Twilight Tommy that Amaryllis had once been as much human as he had ever been, not some sentient Briar-flora. Furthermore, Tommy’s desires to liberate Amy had flared bright in his mind and chest. Unfortunately, the amber-eyed lad would spend many hours unsuccessfully trying to determine what would be best for the spirit-touched lass.

Twilight Tommy was certain that Amaryllis had been abducted by the Folk while still very young—possibly even over two-hundred years earlier. Tommy’s initial instinct was to remind Amy of her mortal life and memories, yet would that be good or safe for the girl’s psyche? As a changeling could restoring more of her human memories allow Amaryllis to travel in the mundane world, or at least farther afield within the Maze Between? Could Amy’s currently alien-esque plant thinking even be overcome? How could Amy be approached about these options without driving her into a fury? Would the mundane world poison the tree-spirit, after so long in the Briar? What would any of it mean for the stability of their magical tree-house? The more that Tommy thought, the more answerless questions he generated.

          Even with a change of scenery, Twilight Tommy could not resolve his concerns. Specifically, Tommy walked the unwanted fertilizer several yards into the Nevada desert and shook it out as widely as he could. There was no way that Tommy was going to lug that ten-pound sack of crap for several miles, a second time. The conscientious sprite did pocket the plastic bag, though, later dumping it in a mundane trash can.

Ultimately, Twilight Tommy resolved to fall back on his strengths and delve into some target specific research on the methods of liberating dryads and the difficulties of memory restoration for long lived spirit-touched. Unfortunately, before Twilight Tommy could start that investigation, more pressing and distracting events arose to consume his and his allies’ attentions—as shell be detailed in part two of Motley Few: Goblin Market, All Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, for reading my story, I sincerely hope that you enjoyed it. Continue with [Part Two of Motley Few](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5226737), at your convenience.  
> If you have the time, please let me know what you thought of this or any Twilight Tommy tale, with a comment here on AO3 or via email at gitariart@gmail.com.  
> I appreciate any polite criticism, though I hope to receive some indication of was liked.  
> If you enjoyed my writing, please let others know about the stories and where to find them.  
> The next Twilight Tommy Tale, [Motley Few](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5177390), is available.  
> Thanks, again -- GitariArt  
> 


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